i am unironically obsessed with adam west batman not only trying to be a good dad to robin, but actually succeeding. also love robin's insane energy levels and his ability to go from seething bloodlust to manic glee in record time. i think any superman worth his S would fit right into the family ^_^
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Cold take: Jason Todd smokes cigarettes because he’s the ‘bad boy’ ‘cool sibling’
Hot take: Jason Todd smokes cigarettes because Dick Grayson used to smoke them and even though he’s older now Dick is still his older brother and he’s cool so Jason still smokes them to prove himself to dick.
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My favorite thing about Annabeth is her wardrobe.
Cause like, Rick simplifies her clothes in a way a man would, and you can tell.
Cause in EVERY book, from The Lightning Thief to Chalice, she’s in the goddamn CHB shirt. With like some shorts or cargo pants. Nothing more, nothing less.
He’s made improvements over the years, giving her some other clothes. But he’ll always come back to old faithful.
Like, he most definitely did it on accident, but he made her so Adam Sandler and I love it
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can we talk about percy uncovering luke’s true intentions and luke coming clean about wanting to recruit percy as a powerful ally and percy obviously refusing despite sympathizing with the cause because he’s just better than that leading to them dueling, with luke about to strike percy down when annabeth’s blade, the one luke gifted her, the same cursed blade that’ll reap his soul 3 years from now, sealed with the promise of family and new beginnings, knocking into backbiter in luke’s hands, and luke turning to stare at her with the most heartbroken, torn expression on his face and annabeth staring him down with more venom than any pit scorpion could’ve had.
can we talk about annabeth standing in the clearing watching the only man she loves, someone who made a promise to protect her and always have her back, someone she’s known for 5 years, looming over a boy she met mere weeks ago, someone who, despite a godly rivalry getting in the way of their initial friendship, fought for her and saved her and chose her over himself time and time again…can we talk about how the defiance in her gaze made it very clear to luke that the person he’s closest to would choose percy over him every time
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sukuna ryomen is somewhat of an infamous bachelor.
it’s not surprising to see him with a new beau every few months, if not weeks — almost trope-like in their frequency, his image bouncing between playboy and manwhore. he doesn’t take it personally, and he makes sure to let people know: he’s young and sexy and he has two oscars, for fuck’s sake, so he thinks the world can cut him some slack when he wants to mess around. and mess around he does.
between obvious paparazzi shots of panties tucked badly into his back pocket, and instagram posts with fellow actors and models pressed tightly against his chest, most are divided between thinking it’s either damn good pr, or a simple man living a life most would wish for. regardless, nobody is surprised when sukuna arrives alone at the mugler show for paris fashion week, and leaves with someone on his arm.
the only thing that came as a bolt from the blue was that it was you hanging from him.
the photos are undeniable, a story in parts; sukuna finding his seat in the front row, you on one side and kendall jenner on his other. his eyes drifting from the models to your face, as if taking a clandestine peek. you, meeting his underhanded gaze with a smile as sweet as spun sugar — and, gasp, sukuna returning it. the display is so out of character for him it feels almost voyeuristic to see it plastered all over twitter.
you, with your vintage, girl-next-door-esque image, big hair and big eyes and demure, calf-length hems, a voice that evokes the memory of helen forrest or ella fitzgerald. him, with his smudged eyeliner and tattoos and all-black attire, persistently typecasted as the panty-dropping bad-boy or devil-smiled brute. it shouldn’t work. for all intents and purposes, he should be spotted with a new supermodel the next week, leaving you in the dust of his philandering. most expect it, wait for the other boot to drop — expect an album of heartbreak from you, but—
a month passes. and another, and another. and suddenly sukuna ryomen, notorious rake, is photographed backstage at your shows. suddenly there’s an anklet hanging from your ankle, his initials in garnet. it’s early morning paparazzi pictures of you both in sweatpants and hoodies — yours, suspiciously oversized — one of his hands engulfing yours, the other holding a bag of takeout from a local breakfast spot, a lit cigarette in his mouth. hickies on your neck and a shit-eating grin on sukuna’s face. candid snaps taken at intimately sized parties, with his chin hooked over your shoulder and his large hands cupping your stomach. tiktoks of you both on the red carpet in the background of somebody else’s interview, sukuna leaning in close to brush an eyelash from your cheek.
neither of you confirm anything, but then — you don’t need to, do you?
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