#i need to acknowledge that

[flonflonflon]

SO. I WATCHED YOUNG JUSTICE. Red Hooded Ninja I need you so bad...... did some more scribbling to cope o(-( Very upset that they did not further elaborate on him / Jason Todd before cancelling the show?? At least. that's what I read everywhere. I'm late to the party as always.. ,,,give me a Nightwing arc including Jason please please please I love his total of 3 minutes of screentime on there, I am so starved I still have hope

[stargirl230]

ghost of you

super quick Sua screencap redraw to celebrate the new video release - no I was not expecting it to be Like That and yes I was devastated

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[im-ignoring-canon]

Annabeth: When i said bring me something back from the beach, i meant like, a seashell or something

Percy, cradling a baby shark: I know, but Bruce was lonely

Annabeth:

Percy:

Annabeth, tearing up: Bruce is valid and i love him

[nyanrial]

making little snowmen ⛄⛄

[ponydoodles]

[river-of-wine]

I finished Sunrise on The Reaping yesterday… I had to draw something about it

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[the-mpreg-guy]

And like I need everyone to rewatch s1-2 with the mindset that Dean’s never had a hunting partner before. “I was working my own gig in new orleans” and “dad used to send me away” and “the story became the story” and like, yes, Dean and John did hunt together, as evidenced in 1x04, but they weren’t hunting partners, as evidenced in 1x20 by how John treats him.

The majority of hunts Dean went on were alone. He did the witness questioning, the research, the puzzle solving, the cemetery digs, the monster hunts alone.

Which puts two things into perspective. The first is that Dean is very very good at outsourcing. One scene that comes to mind is in 1x16 where Sam teases Dean for calling another hunter to uncover some lore. He didn’t have a partner ever to help pick up the slack when shit hit the ceiling (on hunts with John, Dean is playing support in every avenue) until Sam started hunting full time and was able to help provide support via their mutual partnership.

The second is that Dean is putting in a performance specifically for Sam for two entire seasons straight. The long winded sighs, the digs at Sam being a “college boy nerd,” pretending to hate reading, downplaying his interpersonal skills and empathy towards civilians.

It’s a facade. One entirely catered towards Sam to make him feel more comfortable, and like Dean needs him there. He spends most of 1x11 lamenting that Sam isn’t there, to Sam but also in general because he misses Sam.

And like, there isn’t even really a point I’m trying to make here. It’s just that s1-2 Dean (first season in particular) is written so insanely well. Especially in retrospect of later seasons. The first time we see Dean let his game face drop is so telling of the character we get for 15 more seasons.

“I don’t want to,” happening in 1x01 is insane. From his first appearance on screen we learn exactly who he is: a big fake who’s desperately lonely.

[roach-works]

im working on a silly thought right now but: it deeply sucks that advertising is annoying, irresistible, and omnipresent, and we all just have to cope with that constant ongoing sandpaper irritation. meanwhile there's less and less grace for humans that are annoying, which is something that every human is at some point, and some of us are really annoying for most of our lives.

like. everyone has to be beautiful and graceful. everyone has to be sensitive and kind. or else they have to be apologetically disabled: autistic, bipolar, deaf. they have to be so so sorry for inconveniencing you, cutting you off, weirding you out, holding you up, annoying you. they have to take responsibility, they have to listen and learn, they have to make it up to you.

i don't think i want to live in a world where advertisers get to crawl into my eyeballs and earholes as often as they possibly can, but if im abrasive and clueless to someone i better be a card carrying member of the Broken Brain Club or prepared to grovel.

[lizardbraining]

It’s basically a marriage proposal.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

hey can you guys watch them for a second

[arandomcat1717]

OLD MAN YAOI IS REAAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!

[moyazaika]

morning glory; tw yandere, gn reader, mdni 18+

the sun is shining, and the morning sky is a promising, pale blue; you are staring down at the stack of hot pancakes on your plate, to avoid looking at him.

completely unperturbed by your close proximity, he’s standing behind your seat at the table, leaning over; warm arms caging you in on either side as he drizzles sweet, chocolate syrup onto the golden face of the topmost pancake, so that it forms the shape of—

“a heart,” he smiles, “for the love of my life.”

“thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. “dig in, darling.”

this fork in your hands, you consider silently, turning it over; should you jab it into his neck?

after he’s made your plate, he sits down in front of his own, across from you. after all of his extensive doting and fussing over you, his own food’s gone cold, but he either doesn’t seem to notice, or he simply doesn’t mind.

you don’t care enough to ask.

he takes slow, thoughtful bites of his own breakfast. you observe, with a bemused sort of awe, the care with which he breaks off the pancake in measured portions, before ensuring each spoonful carries a blueberry, and is dipped in the chocolate syrup.

fork in his mouth, he meets your gaze; takes his sweet time savouring the taste of his food, swallows, smiles at you expectantly. “something on my face, love?”

you turn back to your own plate, completely untouched. “no.”

“alright.” the sound of his fingers, drumming against the dining table. “be a darling and fetch me the milk, will you?”

he’s never allowed you to leave the table until you’ve finished all your food. he’s never even allowed you into the kitchen before. you look up at him warily, voice hushed, “..why?”

“i’d like something to drink, is all.”

you stand very carefully, the grating sound of your chair scraping against the floor making you wince. he says nothing, and so you take that as your cue to take a few hesitant steps into the kitchen.

when you step over the boundary where the wooden floorboards give way to checkered tiles, you turn over your shoulder, suddenly very unsure of what to do next.

“the milk…?”

he’s watching you still, chin resting on interlaced fingers, elbows on the table; even though he was the one who first instructed you that doing so was bad manners.

“yes, love.” he smiles patiently. “should just be in the fridge.”

“okay.”

you’ve never been alone in the kitchen before. never really had any reason to when he insists on making all of your meals. you know you’re technically being supervised even now, but it still feels strange to reach for the fridge handles and just—

“open it.”

you oblige.

you’ve gotten used to it, perhaps.

the cold air hits you in the face as soon as the doors swing open. it takes a moment for your gaze to flitter over all of the different compartments and containers before you catch sight of the milk, and—

why…?

the hair on your skin stands on end.

you read the words once, in a quiet shock.

then another time, as if you simply must’ve read them wrong the first time. you’re in disbelief, going back to the first letter—

your heart drops.

this can’t be happening to you.

—again

—again.

this can’t be happening to you.

your legs give out beneath you.

—and the very moment they do, warm hands, smelling faintly of pancake batter, are there to collect you; keep holding you up, as strong arms wrap themselves right around your body. his kind voice cuts straight through your thoughts. “what’s wrong, my love?”

“that’s…” you raise a shaking finger, point into the fridge. it’s more of a question, the second time around. “that’s…?”

he follows the direction in which you’re pointing, and then he lets out a sigh you can only describe as polite; a dismissive acknowledgement of your distress with no attempt, nor interest, in providing an explanation.

both of you stare at the milk carton where it sits in the fridge, right next to the fruit juice you like so much—beneath the logo, which you’ve traced over a thousand times, bored out of your mind at the breakfast table—is a picture.

an old image of you. younger. smiling.

free.

one word printed beneath the picture, in blocky black letters that take up half of the carton’s packaging, completely impossible to miss—

MISSING

there’s fine print beneath that, even. a smaller string of letters you can’t even begin to read, seeing as it feels like your own world’s tilted sideways; knocked right out of balance. completely off-kilter.

he understands this.

that is why, then, he decides to do it for you.

“town left devastated,” he reads evenly, “over sudden, unexplained disappearance of beloved, active member of community, who vanished without a trace last fall. family members plead with those who may have any information to call the national missing person’s hotline for handsome reward.”

the silence stretches on for a moment, so that the soft, low hum of the refrigerator is the only sound in the house.

“how unfortunate,” he murmurs, tone an imitation of empathy. “the world is only growing unsafer by the day, my love, and this is why,” he brushes your hair out of your face. “i need to keep you so close.”

he closes the refrigerator doors, and carries you out of the kitchen. so completely absorbed in your own shock, you’d neglected to even realise that at some point, he must’ve picked you right up; swept you off your two, very own feet.

“i can’t imagine losing you like that,” he shudders. “i can’t imagine if something like that happened to you, my love.”

he sets you down, very gently, into your seat at the breakfast table. your arms hang limp by your sides, limbs having completely given up on you; so he carefully folds your hands in your lap. pulls out a chair right besides you, and reaches for your cutlery.

“don’t fret over it, darling. as long as you’re with me,” he smiles, cutting into your cold food. “i promise i’ll always keep you safe, and take very good care of you.”

you observe the deliberation with which he breaks off the pancake in measured portions, before ensuring each spoonful carries a soft blueberry, and is dipped in the runny chocolate syrup.

“now open wide, darling.”

you oblige.

what else is there to do?

“try not to think about it too much, my love,” he hums, watching the way your lips fall around the fork, “there is, after all, no use crying over spoilt milk.”

you chew very slowly, taking your time to break the pancake down into something smaller. his eyes, which had been trained on the movement of your throat, now rise to meet yours—

and even though across the table, his plate sits empty: there is, you note, a faint hunger in them.

“wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

the food in your mouth tastes rotten; you don’t answer.

he only smiles patiently in response, as if he has all the time in the world.

the worst part of it all is that outside, you know that the sun is still shining, and the morning sky remains, even now, the same shade of a promising, pale blue.

[glitchgh0sty]

Decepticon!Prowl: Cycle 51. Signal [cont]

Context ✨ Previous ✨ Next

————————————————————————

Jazz: … Prowler, I think we’ve gotta have a talk.

Prowl: … Affirmative.

————————————————————————

Extra context <33: No- this has never happened before,, the nerve connection is supposed to serve as an advanced surveillance system,, not interference system~

[rhinco]

i think the thing is that most of the students who are using ai to write essays for them are probably not the same ones who could speedrun an essay in a day. there are students for whom leaving an essay to the last minute means they will fail and those are probably the ones using ai. so when people on here say well before chatgpt we all used to cram essays at the last minute— yeah, and some people failed. and they have what seems like an easy out now. if i had a bunch of maths questions due in high school and one day to do it then yeah i can see being tempted by ai. i would hope my principles would stop me from using it but i can see how it happens. students do hold some accountability for it but the greater problem isn't really students it's the multitude of different pressures and problems that all intersect and make high school and tertiary education hell especially since a lot of us missed out on crucial years of education due to the pandemic

[snackleggg]

I feel like people forget that Dagur was like the original "What if Hiccup was evil" character. Like yeah people bring up Viggo and the flop that was Grimmel but like Dagur was the og and I never see anyone bring it up in analysis of his character.

I think it's important to remember especially since while both Viggo and Dagur are "dark reflections" of Hiccup, they reflect fundamentally different parts of who Hiccup is.

Viggo is the "What if someone with Hiccup's intelligence and curiosity was evil" but Dagur was the "What if someone who grew up in a similar position to Hiccup was evil"

Son of the chief. Different from other vikings and treated badly because of that. Negative relationship with said chief father.

Dagur is also the only villain who was close in age to Hiccup & the riders (not counting Heather cause she was more of an antagonist than a villain). He's very obviously supposed to parallel Hiccup in a sort of "Hey viking society messed him up to but he handled it infinitely worse than Hiccup did"