#how to make your homework

[erinwantstowrite]

will peter be like an older brother to miles in lof ?

absolutely he is

there's about an 11 year difference between them (Miles is 14, Peter is 25), so it's a lot more like the older brother type of relationship that Peter has with Tim (despite Tim being his uncle). Peter has mentored(ish) other young heroes by this point (mostly in the Bats' universe) but since Miles is another Spider-Man, Peter takes up most of the responsibility in making sure Miles is safe and teaching him the ropes. That's HIS sassy child genius, thank you, and he's not a sidekick, he's Spider-Man.

He was also adamant that Miles tell his parents immediately, and gets along great with Rio and Jeff.

Which is HILARIOUS to me because at this point in time, Peter has built up a persona for the public eye just like the Bats did. In Rio and Jeff's eyes, they're gobsmacked that the clumsy, scatterbrained, and "scaredy-cat" kid that Tony Stark adopted a while ago is Spider-Man. (Technically, none of this is a lie. Because Peter is a terrible liar unless it's For the Jokes, and often comes across this way even if he hadn't meant to.) They're wondering how he pulled that off since he's the same age as Spider-Man, who is known to be an Avenger, and associates in the same circles as Peter. It helps that Peter and Spider-Man have been in a social media war, and that Peter works at the Daily Bugle that is known for disliking Spider-Man. Peter's been taking lessons for years atp to keep his identity safe. Which is also bonus points to Peter, because the two can tell that secret identities mean everything to him, but he told them who he was in a heartbeat (literally the very first thing he did when he found Miles).

In other words: Peter was ecstatic to become a teacher for his own matching superhero kid and it's one of the most important bonds in his life. That's his baby brother now!!

[aroaceleovaldez]

just read the plot summary for Wrath of the Triple Goddess and. wow this is. painful this just sounds painful to read.

Why is Grover the incompetent inciting incident character? That is not his narrative role ever, really. That's like, the fanon conceptualization of his character where he's reduced down to comedic relief and nothing more. He's mostly exposition and support. Why not have the inciting incident be something about Annabeth's hubris - something that has gotten the gang into situations tons of times before in a way that doesn't put down any of the characters? Heck you could have even tied it into some Sea of Monsters stuff, like Circe having told Annabeth that she'd make a good sorceress. That'd be perfect for how this book literally just exists to be advertising for s2 of PJOTV. Or maybe call-back to Percy's introduction, where he talks about how he doesn't try to cause problems but problems tend to find him. Or use the established personalities of Hecate's animal companions from HoO, since we know they have attitudes. Just what are you even doing here????

[chaoswarfare]

dp x dc prompt #23

Danny gets summoned by the justice league, but he’s tired, just finished a ghost fight, missed his morning coffee, is running late on several college assignments, and has been summoned multiple times this week.

Or- Danny screams at the justice league for summoning him until someone offers to help with his rogues and homework, not that they really know what they’re offering to do. The summoning is wrapped up, the big bad is defeated, and Danny gets to go home. Too bad that one of the heroes is absolutely infatuated.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

everyone clap for me

I saw an incredibly brain dead take on activism and I didn't engage with the post

I'm just going to vague about it in the tags like a mature adult

[puppyeared]

i wanna post my skip to loafer art but i cant do it knowing ppl are gonna put it on tiktok and pinterest bc itd be like. bringing an invasive species ykwim

[ivyinforests]

Callisto referring to Gabrielle as “the friendship of your life” when talking to Xena is so funny to me. Did they switch it from “love” at the last minute? Was this sentence scientifically engineered to sound as gay as possible or did it just happen? Was this just a common phrase in the 90s?

[br1ghtestlight]

i know it SHOULD be the standard that dads are involved in their kids lives the same way that moms are but i always appreciate how much effort is out into protraying bob and linda as equally engaged and resonsible in the kids lives and household chores. like sometimes linda goes on field trips or volenteers at their school but bob does too!!! they both do household chores like laundry and washing the dishes and bob does most of the cooking but linda cooks breakfast and dinner for the kids sometimes. bob is the person up at 7am making the kids breakfast and driving them to their dentist appointments, he always attends their performances and him and linda take turns with who watches the restaurant and kids vs who runs the errands. bob is soo involved in his kids lives and what they like/dislike who their friends are and what their plans are for the upcoming weeks that it really makes other sitcom dads look completely incompetent. like he loves his kids SO MUCH he's always been responsible and taken care of household chores and parenting. and its good that linda can have fun sometimes too they're good parents :)

[dailypearldoodles]

[day 161] happy first birthday to the MOST iconic red life skin EVER

[mo-ok]

What's a Red without their Blue?

Kyukyu Sentai GoGoV

Matoi Tatsumi & Nagare Tatsumi

[scrimblyscrorblo]

The moment I get fnaf Into The Pit it’s over for you bitches.

Genuinly omg I’ve been watching playthroughs and the animation, the sound design especially, the additions to the story ommmmgghg

I just really really love it omg i could go on but alas I will not

[aroaceleovaldez]

im really not a fan of Rick's recent trend of recycling bits of his writing that got a good reaction the first time and acting as if that's a valid substitute for. actually bothering to write something original a second time around. It's clearly just there as a callback and nothing more.

It's "Nico's rage exploded" and "Percy's rage exploded" with the exact same paragraph formatting. It's CoTG having titles like "My Singing Makes Things Worse, and Everyone Is Totally Shocked" (reference to TLO, when Percy says he thinks his singing would cause an avalanche) or "Pretty Much the Best Good-Night Kiss Ever" (reference to TLO "Pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time") or any other number of near word-for-word references to the first series. It's Nico calling Percy "seaweed brain" in Un Natale Mezzosangue (when Percy says in TTC that anybody but Annabeth calling him that is a major offense). It's Nico and Will falling into Tartarus in TSATS word-for-word referencing Percy and Annabeth in House of Hades, despite it not making any sense for their characters (and otherwise being written as Percabeth 2™). It's the show making huge changes but keeping random "fan-favorite references" (mostly overusing "seaweed brain" and "wise girl" and emphasizing percabeth) only because they're popular in-jokes and considering that a faithful enough adaptation to market it heavily as such. It's lazy writing.

And it's a disservice to the series and to the audience, because it clearly shows Rick doesn't have original ideas anymore (though given all his writing is heavily derivative to begin with, it begs the question how much was original in the first place and how much he has difficulty when he doesn't have a structured mythological plot to work from) and that there is an expectation that the audience will just sit down and accept that behavior hook-line-and-sinker. Everything recently is clearly such lip-service to the audience, either in retcons that are overt speaking-to-camera acknowledgements of things he's been criticized on or wink-wink-nudge-nudges of community in-jokes that have no business in the actual text (see: over-use of ship names in canon). Especially since Rick tends to be about 5 years behind on the fandom uptake. It's just so disappointing to see.

[randomwriteronline]

"Pohatu - fancy seeing you here."

Nokama smiles a little more when the Toa turns to her. He sits slightly hunched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, powerful legs swinging idly in the emptiness that divides the rocky wall from a plummet into the ocean, completely unafraid; the unusual shape of his Kakama Nuva greets her wordlessly.

"I hope I did not bother you," she continues gently: "You seem so caught up in your thoughts, these days..."

A comfortable silence follows the pause she allows to hang.

For a moment a sense of dread creeps along her spine, around her arms, ensnaring her neck: Pohatu, whose voice rattles the mountains, stares at her eerily quiet with a terrifyingly blank gaze and a lack of emotion in his expression.

But he blinks, and his eyes widen, and he says: "What?" as he leans his head forward. "I'm sorry Turaga, I was not listening."

She exhales, amused, as the broken tension allows her shoulders to sag a little: "I only mentioned that you seem very distracted as of late - even during Vakama's tales."

"Ah," he replies with a slightly embarrassed laugh: "I guess my head likes to be in Lewa's domain far more than my feet do in Onua's."

Nokama laughs with him: "May I?" she asks.

He gestures to his side amiably, inviting her to sit with him: "Of course, of course."

It's surprising how little he's worried. Even her head starts to spin from vertigo when she dares to look down at the swirling waters, and she is the furthest thing from the infamous Po-Matoran hydrophobia; yet he sits there without the barest hint of concern despite knowing very well he would sink to the depths of the ocean horribly easily.

Pohatu looks again to the horizon.

He's unusually unreadable.

"I've spoken with the Mahi of Po-Koro, on one of my visits," she tells him - her Rau's abilities have already been unmasked by now, so it's less strange than it could be - "They've told me you quite love to pamper them, more than the Hapaka."

His laugh vibrates out of him, but she notices he does not smile as wide as the sound would imply when he simply shrugs: "I like horns."

They've told her that, too.

"What troubles you, Toa of Stone?"

He glances back at her: "Nothing."

"Yet your mind is so often elsewhere, and you almost don't look like yourself. I've come to know you, Pohatu - I wish to help, if I can."

Nokama's gentle worry makes him sigh deeply: "You're as good a teacher as Toa Lhikan thought, Turaga," he replies with a heavy tone. "Very attentive."

She looks to her feet: "Vhisola was proof otherwise," she mutters.

Pohatu tilts his head: "Then it just means you've gotten better."

The Turaga smiles: "You're always too kind."

He does not reply to that.

His fingers sink into the stone of the precipice to rip a chunk out of the cliff like it's nothing; he tosses the rock from palm to palm absentmindedly, neck craned back to look at the sky.

"I'm just thinking of Po-Metru."

Curiosity, then. "It's only natural," she soothes him: "Your siblings wonder about Metru Nui too. Gali has asked me about Ga-Metru and the Great Temple quite a lot in the past few days. I'm certain Onewa will not be too shy to answer your questions."

She watches him pull one knee up to lean his chin on it: "I don't have many, to be honest - not about the city."

"Really?"

A shrug: "Turaga Vakama is very good at descriptions."

"Ah... Yes, he is, isn't he."

The Toa does not smile back at her; he keeps looking further away into the endless sky, as if to pull on the rest of the ocean with his mind until the other side of the island appears on the horizon.

"What is it, then?" Nokama nudges him. "What doubts take hold of your focus?"

He does not answer immediately.

The rock falls back in his hand perfectly each time he juggles it.

He does so halfheartedly, distractedly - in the same way he sits at the Amaja circle and looks at her brother speak as though he could see right past him, through him.

"The Matoran come from there," he finally says.

She nods.

At last, his strange nearly impersonal gaze returns upon her mask.

"Do you know where we come from?"

It takes her a moment to understand who he speaks of: "You come from the canisters," she answers, because that is nothing if the truth. "You come from the sea."

"The sea bears life - the sea bore us," he says under his breath at that, as though he is repeating a memory. It sounds a lot like Gali.

She nods: "That is as much as we Turaga know."

"And nothing else?" he insists. His words don't hold any desperation, but there is something in them she can't explain with any other term. "Did we have anything before that?"

"No, nothing. Nothing that we know of."

"You were Matoran. You became Toa. Do you not remember us?"

"No - you were never in Metru Nui. We never could have met you there, not even as Matoran."

"It remains we must have been Matoran. Isn't that right?"

His tone is... It strikes her enough to make her stagger before she can offer a response.

He sounds like...

He sounds like them, in a way.

He sounds like he is testing her - to see if he can trigger a specific reaction from her.

His tone is somewhat methodical, scientific, like a researcher interrogating a subject to observe the effects of whatever he's administered them; it is that of calculated questions that one already knows the answer to. His mask is unreadable, incomprehensible - not for a blank anonimity but instead an overwhelming amount of minuscule tells and signs that muddle the waters of his emotions, obscuring them within their own cacophonic confusion.

If only she too knew the answer.

If only (she assumes) he had not forgotten it.

"I imagine as much," Nokama finally replies. "But you six are special, Pohatu."

"You were chosen by Mata Nui himself," he interrupts her. The kindness in his voice is nearly an afterthought, but he masks that fact well. "I would say you too are not necessarily as ordinary a bunch as any Gukko flock might be in Le-Wahi."

She chuckles despite the strange atmosphere: "Oh," and then she laughs, and she laughs some more, bent over herself to try and stifle the giggles that bubble in her chest, "Oh, be careful not to say that in front of Tamaru or Kongu, lest you want a very angry lecture on how the Gukko force is so very different from their wild siblings."

Pohatu's smile is lukewarm.

The Turaga recomposes herself quickly when she takes in his lack of amusement: "But you are different," she insists. "You are something more than what we were or could have hoped to be."

"That sort of thing doesn't spring out of the ocean from nowhere."

"That sort of thing is what legends and prophecies are made of. Your arrival was foretold in stars that cannot be rewritten; you came to aid us, delivered upon our shores by the elements themselves; you battled against the Great Spirit's most insidious, terrible enemies, and defeated them. You are special. And perhaps you had no need of a Toa Stone to become who you are."

The reply she gets is a silent stare.

The rock creaks from within the Toa's grip.

If she were looking at it she'd notice the liquid manner it behaves.

"It's a sad idea," he finally says, "To be born only to fight."

The Toa protect, for that is their duty; the Matoran create, for that is their destiny.

Her hand lays on his arm with a kind, humid pressure.

"I may very well be wrong," Nokama reassures him now. "I've told you, not even we Turaga know much."

"You know prophecies."

"Those can only get us so far. And they can't see the past."

"I wish they could," Pohatu says with a focused gaze.

His eyes are locked onto her own.

"I will pray the Great Spirit to bring you answers soon, Toa of Stone," she promises - because what else can she do? How else can she reply to the perfectly still stare that seems to pass through her, carving holes within her head with the precision of a sculptor? "So that you and your siblings will never have to feel as you do now again."

He does not move.

Then, at last, his head tilts with a tired, relieved smile.

"Thank you, Turaga," he tells her earnestly. "I hope so too."

Nokama grins back at him, so gentle, so sweet - so glad that the disquieting spell is over and the Toa is once again fully himself.

She raises herself from her seat with a bit of a struggle, helped upright by his powerful arm. Another burst of vertigo makes her sway for a moment as she catches sight of the long fall into the waters, head feeling light before she imperiously shakes the sensation out of it: there is nothing to fear, the cliff won't fall. Even Pohatu has gone back to swinging his legs in the nothingness with the carefree movements of a Matoran dangling from a jungle vine, and if he is not afraid then she has no reason to be either.

He does not move to follow her.

"I shall return to Ga-Koro now," she tells him: "Soon enough we'll have to carry the boats to Kini Nui, and I ought to make sure they're nearing completion."

"Call Taipu when you need to move them, if my brother is too busy listening to stories - I'm sure he'll be happy to help," he suggests.

Her smile confirms that his poison is mistaken for a lighthearted jab: "A good idea. I will ask Whenua to send him to us, if he is not busy enough already and wishes to lend us a hand. You should be off too, listening to stories like your siblings, should you not?"

Head thrown back and legs stiffened, the Toa whines like an annoyed child: "But Turaga," he exaggerates his whimpering drawl to kick a laugh out of her shoulders, "I don't wanna!"

"Neither do I want to go fetch Nixie out of her observatory for the eleventh time today, but duty call us all the same."

He huffs and pouts dejectedly as his body slumps on himself in a comical manner; his furrowed brow clears into a simple smile as Nokama hiccups chuckle after chuckle at his stellar performance.

"There's still a little while," he bargains with her.

"And will you be at Kini Nui on time?"

"Am I ever late?"

No, she can't argue with that. Her eyes shine with affection as she lays them on him again.

"Alright," she pretends to concede with a sigh, as though she were doing him a big favor. His grin amuses her to no end. "But make sure to be there."

He places a hand on his heartlight: "I will be."

"And try to focus, as best as you can."

"I will try my hardest. I just need to clear my head a little more, and then I'll be the most captive audience Turaga Vakama has ever had."

"I'm certain you will. I hope the sea brings you solace, Pohatu."

"Thank you, Turaga. Goodbye."

She does not see his cheerfulness drop in an instant as soon as her back tells him she will not turn to look at him again, smile flattening, eyelids drooping, eyes hardening. He watches her until she disappears from view with a face devoid of love and a sizzling in his heartlight that almost makes him feel sick; the stone in his hand squeezes through his fingers like putty, slithers between them, takes a slug-like shape as it coils around his digits squirming like a worm emerging from a fresh tomb into a summer downpour, before he lets it collects itself in his palm once more.

He crushes it gently and looks down only when he opens his palm again. It looks like a Kane-Ra bull. He tries again: this one is a Makika. A Fikou. A Dikapi. A Tunnel Stalker. A Husi. A Fusa.

A Turaga with their mask shattered.

Without a word he presses the rock with both hands to somewhat shape it back into a proper sphere, carefully, taking his time.

He kicks it as far into the ocean as he can. His eyes follow its trajectory until the distance turns it far too small for him to distinguish it against the flickering gleams of the waves in which it no doubt sinks. He continues to look at the calm waters, legs swinging idly much like branches in a light breeze.

The sea bears life, Gali said; the sea bore us.

Pohatu looks into the cradle of his siblings' rebirth thoughtlessly, quietly, hating it as much as he hates them for not swallowing them whole.

[bestcadaverinthejujutsumorgue]

imagining a world where geto managed to pull off his cataclysmic new-world-birthed-through-fire type plans—only to have the vague collection of curse users he has managed to convince instantly revolt under him because guess what? plague and famine and the collapse of civilization sucks for everyone and cursed energy means jack in a starvation situation. it’s called cursed energy for a reason, it’s only good for hurting people. you can’t evil energy beam your way into healthy crops when you’ve killed off all the agricultural technicians! japan’s food supply is reliant on global supply chains, and do you know what flounders first under pressure? his baby girls are crepeless and they hate the internet collapsing. none of his evil wizards in his glorious curseless world want to go to trade school or get an engineering degree.

[achaotichuman]

Consuming

This is an original piece, I made. 2nd POV. Entails a character who sees and feels death around them and what happens when they finally meet them.

Trigger Warning- Slight horror and gore.

You’d seen death before. 

Knocking on the window, standing in the corridor. Waiting outside of hospitals you drove past. You’d always known it was there. 

Okay, maybe you hadn’t seen death himself. But you could feel his presence. Looming over the cradle of your dying baby brother. Standing in the corridor that let to your grandmother’s bedroom. Waiting at hospitals that housed the sick and injured. 

When your brother died you were sitting up in your bed. You had awoken because of a strange dream. You had been jumping on a trampoline, when you flipped you never hit the netting below. Rather you floated, staring at the sky as it began to erupt in a lightshow of flames. Fire fell down upon, lighting up the trees and consuming the earth. You felt at home in the heat. 

Your body jolted awake, and as you looked over across the room, to the old cradle that had been put in your room. You felt him. Standing there. You imagine what he looked like. Maybe like in the movies with a black coat and scythe. You thought about what his skin would look like. Maybe pale as the white cotton sheets squeezed between your then small chubby fingers. Or perhaps darker than your brown teddy bear, fallen to the floor from your thrashing sleep. 

When your brother’s breath was stolen, you felt ice in your veins. You didn’t remember what happened next, but then again it was so long ago. 

The next time you felt him was when your grandmother died. Middle of the afternoon with the lazy sunlight gleaming in through the windows. Splattering across your face, you felt its warmth as something distant, when the coldness overtook you again. Locking your limbs in place. You knew he was here as the panic throbbed through your chest. But what is a six-year-old to do when they feel something is wrong but are too young to understand what death is? You knew he was there but understood him as a child understood how math worked. It simply was something, a concept but not registered as something important to them. 

So you stared, as your mother passed you to bring your grandmother soup, she had been feeling ill lately. You listened to her open the door and call her mother, then ask again in a more panicked tone. Before the sound of the soup bowl shattering to the ground rang through the house. Your mother began to scream and you began to cry. 

Yes, you had seen death before. But not like this. You had observed him, watched him, felt him. Like winter passing through the world. But you had never met him. 

You were in a dream, you knew you were. Everything was nothing like the real world. 

You stood in a corridor. That same corridor. You heard a baby crying. Screaming, it was in pain, you felt it. You knew it in your veins. Panic was rising in your, begging for your body to go after the infant, but you could not move. Not even as you thrashed against invisible restraints. 

Death was nothing like what you thought. He was no mere man. 

You hadn’t used your life well. You had done horrible things, things that could be retold in a documentary. Or in some twisted up tv show. 

For that, you thought, this must be punishment. That your death would not be so kind. Your death would be brutal and slow. 

Down the corridor, it seemed never ending. The baby kept crying and you recognised it’s shrieks as your helpless brother, whom you had not even tried to save from the grip of death. 

From a door in the corridor. Slowly it creaked open. Tears were streaming down your face. Your vision was whiting in and out. 

You saw a head, a smile on it’s face. A smile too wide to be human. Reaching from ear to ear. It had no nose, but two eyes too small to be human. It stared at you, you stared at it. Unable to scream and unable to run. 

It’s neck became visible. 

It kept extending, out and out. A tentacle-like limb, it came towards you. Still smiling, still grinning like it enjoyed your thrashing. 

You tried to scream, you tried to scream so much you felt blood running down your throat, yet your mouth remained sealed shut. 

It stopped before you. It asked you, “Why are you here?”

You spoke, but the words were not yours. Like a puppet you were toyed with, like you had toyed with others in your life. Blood dribbled down your chin as you said, “For I am stained with blood that is not mine. For I was a creature unworthy of being called human.”

It’s sharp, bloodstained teeth glimmered in moonlight. Shining bright from the windows of the corridor. 

“Then as you consumed gluttony and hatred. I will consume you.”

It let you scream your pain and suffering as those gnashing teeth descended upon your skin. 

Yes you had seen death, you heard and felt him. 

Now you met him. 

And you truly felt him in every weeping part of your body, as he desecrated you. 

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[triglycercule]

halloween is like in a month and as worlds worst procrastinator (self declared title) i think i'm finally gonna fufill my dreams and make an animation meme of the mtt with that one happy halloween junky rin song (but ughhh i need to decide on costumes i'll give them!!!!! off to the drawing board!!)