#or am I wrong and confused

[norma-jean-monster]

girl* what the heck is even going on in the mcu like I fell off after end game...

[redsray]

that trope where jason gets caught by the justice league and has to get (a) rescued by bruce or (b) reveal his connection to bruce or (c) both except it's steph.

and it's not because she was doing anything incriminating, no, it's because she wanted to find Bruce, who was not answering his communications nor was he in the cave; so obviously, the next place she'd look is, y'know, the watchtower. because surely they'd know who she is, right? there's a bat on her chest.

she's proven entirely incorrect.

because for some reason, bruce is not only not on the watchtower, but has also neglected to tell the justice league about any associates outside of the robins they've met. these superpowered wonderful people are all under the impression that the only person batman works with is robin.

since they never met steph as robin, the bat on her chest doesn't mean much. she could be anyone. she insists she works with batman, but none of them can contact him to confirm this, so they just kind of... let her stay. monitored, of course, because she could be a threat, but they do.

cue steph chatting with the justice league and them realising that oh, batman has more children. oh, batman works with others than just the robins. oh, batman has not introduced them to a robin- they'd thought they've met them all.

Green Lantern: So you were... also Robin?

Steph: Yeah. not for long though.

Green Lantern: But you're not...

Steph: Not what, green boy? Black-haired and blue-eyed? A boy??

Green Lantern, backtracking: No, no, no that's- that's not what I meant-

Steph, laughing: Hood was right, you are easy to tease. good lord.

eventually Dick swings by and explains that Bruce got kidnapped in his civilian persona and that the others are handling it. as soon as the League sees him, they complain about not being told about Steph, Cass and Duke. Dick's only response is;

"Oh, he didn't tell you?"

[expectiations]

I still find it funny that people call eleven a "deadbeat husband" and their marriage "toxic" but twelve is the "perfect husband" and their marriage "wedded bliss" all because of the few moments we'd seen between 11 and River were them being "toxic". yes of course! let's ignore how the minisodes show how that description isn't true and even how little moments in the episodes themselves – "what? that's it?" (why haven't you kissed me goodbye? are you being sly on purpose so I'd kiss you first?) and "they wouldn't bury my wife out here" and the music room is the heart of the home and it's not a ghost story, it's a love story – show 11 cared and put in the work and yes, they're going to have disagreements like the ones in TATM because duh who doesn't but it does not mean it is the entirety of their relationship but people have taken it and made it the entirety of their relationship.

[koinotea]

ONE OF MY FAVES AND I THINK I NEVER POSTED IT HERE WHAATTT

[tulliok]

we stopped watching around the later seasons and barely remember what happened in them so we're encouraging you to talk about what you dislike or want to criticize

Got asked, so here’s my abridged season 8-9 thoughts.

As someone who grew up watching the show from the beginning, I have a lot of gripes with how “friendship” is defined as a power-up or a material resource. However, it really wasn’t that big of a deal because I understand that MLP is a show targeted towards young girls that enjoy playing with toys, and the show was able to still portray realistic and educational lessons. 

The introduction of a friendship school in season 8 was a poor decision for so many reasons. Narratively, it locks our main characters into a single location, and we go from having a cast with unique occupations and storylines… to one where all six share the same responsibilities as an instructor and tackle the same lessons. Especially when some of them don’t seem like the type to enjoy teaching at all.

But the biggest issue I have is that the school validates the show’s idea that friendship is a unique resource that has to be taught, and that comes with a load of problematic implications. To get to the worst one right away, the school came packaged with a storyline about xenophobia and Equestria’s prejudice against their foreign neighbors. The coding of non-pony species in the show has always had weird racial implications (yaks and dragons being depicted as loud, unintelligent barbarians, the buffalo and Zecora representing members of real marginalized groups), but it is made even worse in this season by depicting them as people that are uneducated and need to be taught basic social skills and lessons in a foreign land. The Friendship School is literally a project designed by Twilight to spread Equestria’s idea of friendship to other countries! On top of that, they introduce what is essentially a conservative, white supremacist pony as a villain, and to beat him Twilight needs to prove that the exchange students are worthy of being taught. I really don’t think I need to explain why this is extremely weird and shouldn’t even be in the show in the first place.

I love the show because of episodes like Amending Fences, Leap of Faith, and No Second Prances—episodes that teach children that relationships aren’t big battles of morality and power but are complicated experiences that everyone has a unique response to. These experiences cannot be taught in a school with sewing lessons and apple picking and taking exams. They are also not unique to any particular community or race—that is a fact of life that most children should immediately understand. It’s extremely disheartening watching the show regress to the point where Rarity is telling a young girl that her cultural costume isn’t pretty enough and she’s dolling her up in wigs to cover her braids and giving her etiquette lessons to “fit right in." I don’t care that the moral was that she was wrong; what’s wrong is that the show even bothered making episodes like this at all. 

Season 9 concludes with a happy ending where all is well, but it isn't because the young child villain, the one character that needed friendship lessons and the grace to grow up, was turned into a garden accessory without a second thought. All while surrounded by the redeemed villains that the series arbitrarily decided were more worthy of our sympathy.

I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with my opinions and I want to be as fair as possible about what made me so uncomfortable with the show’s conclusion. I am a longtime fan, but I also care a lot about children’s media being responsible with their messaging, especially when they tackle subjects that require a great level of care, such as race and relationships. MLP (whether older fans like it or not) is ultimately a show about teaching children valuable social skills and providing moral lessons with every adventure.

I doubt this mixed messaging was intentional on the writer’s part. Rather, the last seasons were recklessly handled. To a viewer’s eyes, there isn’t a difference between these two.

[ilikeyoshi]

ppl like "i have to use ay-eye bc i can't drawwwww :(" ok whose fault is that. i can't draw either u know who's fault that is?? mine!!!! it isn't a bad thing but if i am unwilling to learn to draw that is Exclusively My Fault buddy!!!! if u refuse to practice that is, in fact, a you problem!!!! that's fine!!!! but u dont get to pretend u HAVE to use ay-eye bc an Uncontrollable Force prevents u from learning to draw!!!! u could just Go Learn!!!!

[songfell-ut]

Happy birthday, Vene

This was drawn by @venelona on Discord and I cleverly tricked her into letting me put this here so I can do a very small gift and rewrite the fork scene if Frisk was a dude. I realize this is not reassuring to those of you who are tired of my self-AU, but I super swear I am editing the final draft of Chapter 34 in the other tab right now.

Also, it's not the entirety of their first meeting in Frisk's room, just skipping around to the relevant bits, explaining how there's still a dramatic reveal if this Frisk isn't wearing a veil because you can pry that dramatic reveal out of my cold dead hands.

Over a day later, the High Priest shut the outer door to his chambers, whistling to himself. He set a covered tray on the table, sat down at the mirror, and checked that his eyes were clear, or at least not too red. Then he picked up his coronet and settled it over his head. He stared at his reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the young man in the mirror to get up first; with a sigh, he finally pushed himself to his feet.

Just outside his bedroom, he let the whistle peter out into a thread of magic that ran ahead to check the loose barriers he'd set around the bed. Two echoes came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," he said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," he ordered.

The skeleton made a noise he couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priest turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting near the edge of the bed, legs crossed, elbows on his knees. He had left the nearly transparent inner bedcurtains closed, but opened the windows, and even just his outline through the thin curtain looked menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs, and the fire in his sockets fully illuminated his features. The young man made himself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if he couldn't feel him staring his down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," he said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priest hastened to assure him. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

skip

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priest decided to leave it for now. Instead, he pulled the side table closer and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priest cut a tomato slice into quarters with his fork, speared one and popped it into his mouth; rather than making Sans share the napkin, he dabbed his lips in passing with the very edge of one sleeve.

This courtesy was lost on the skeleton. "Need somethin’ ta wipe with?" he inquired, and plucked at the curtain. “How ‘bout this?”

The young man ignored him and made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to his mouth. Sans didn't have a stomach, but if he had, the priest probably would have heard it growling; the monster was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So the human quickened his pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage in turn, eating as fast as he could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the human was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," he said briskly. he stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. Sans’ skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," the priest explained.

Sans glanced at the tray, then back to him. The human waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding his breath, before he was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

skip

The skeleton's face was impossible to see clearly. Now that it was quiet, it reminded the young man too much of when he'd grabbed him in the cell. His instincts screamed at him to pull his hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as he remembered how he'd already faced down the boss monster’s attempts to kill him. He was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand over a kitchen utensil like a normal person or die trying.

Slowly, Sans reached down through the gap in the curtains, and the human fought to keep from panicking as the massive hand approached. The skeleton paused...and plucked the fork from his grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it to the floor.

The High Priest stared at the fork. He stared at him. He retrieved the fork, stood up, dropped it into the pitcher, and plunged his hand in after it. Out came the utensil; the young man strode over and shoved the bedcurtain aside enough to gather up a fistful of it as a makeshift towel. This bed was centuries old and the curtains worth as much as a commoner’s entire wardrobe, but they belonged to the High Priest, which meant they were his. And as High Priest, if he wanted to use his antique linen to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating him and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop him? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, he turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," he said, fully facing Sans for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at him. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright with the bedcurtains open, and the light from the window was in his eyes. The priest rubbed them on his sleeve, and scratched under his jaw where the curtain had brushed it. "Well?" he demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priest didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, he thought in growing irritation. "Sans," he said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

The human bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

He did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." The monster glanced up, and in one motion, the human stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" he ordered, and when Sans blankly repeated, "Ahh?" he thrust the fork into Sans’ mouth.

skip

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell: a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was not comfortable. It was bad enough when he was asking Sans questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then he had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

Sans did not like anything about humans, especially their looks. He never understood how they could be attracted to each other long enough to reproduce; they seemed far shallower than monsters, for whom the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for them, and they thought humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it: male or female, they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then this infuriating human had turned around in the sunlight, curtain and stupid fork in hand, and Sans suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and reddish-brown eyes half closed against the light…even the seemingly dull, coarse hair on his face showed wavy patterns picked out in golden threads.

And then the human had tipped his head and shown a glimpse of his throat, and now Sans couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make him go away, and only his punning instinct had saved Sans from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did Frisk have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. The human had demonstrated some emotion behind his priest-y facade; maybe Sans could appeal to it, persuade him to pick some other monster and not risk boning things up? Priests weren’t supposed to bone, right? Ha, ha, etc.

…Granted, this one could probably manage it, given how powerful he was, not to mention easy on the eye sockets, but there was no telling if he was—

"...going to do it," he was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

Frisk smiled, tilting his head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.

[moeblob]

son boy raccoon trash can man suffering in a dnd au as a cleric bc his warlock will not stop committing murders and he has to keep coming up with reasons murder is valid to convince the gm its fine and under control

[bri-cheeses]

| Rosekiller microfic (songfic? idk) | Word count: 641 |

A/N: For better reading experience, I recommend listening to “Brividi” by Mahmood and Blanco, considering that this was based off the chorus of that song

Barty laid next to Evan, goosebumps raised on his skin, head turned so he could better examine the other’s boy’s features.

Evan was sound asleep in Barty’s bed. His lips were parted slightly, and his head rested on the spare pillow that had found its way there sometime after the thousandth occurrence of this happening.

Evan’s eyelashes were long and fluttered slightly as he breathed in and out, naked chest rising and falling evenly as he slept. Something about the way he looked when he was sleeping, soft and unguarded and so painfully lovely, reminded Barty of what he had realized not even three days before.

Barty was in love.

He was in love with someone who understood him, who enjoyed his company, who was beautiful inside and out.

And he wished he could tell Evan, but every time he tried, something in him stopped the words before they ever made it past his lips.

Evan was amazing. He the best thing to ever happen to Barty, and sometimes Barty thought that if he were given the chance, he could love Evan more than any human had ever dared to love another.

But Barty knew that he messed up, over and over and over again, and that he would only hurt Evan if they tried for anything more. The strength of his love threatened to be all-consuming, to chew them both up and spit them back out again. He just didn’t know how to love someone without hurting them.

Barty would sacrifice the world for Evan—he’d known that for a long time. But he had never been certain that he wouldn’t accidentally set the world on fire before handing it to Evan, burning him in the process.

And Barty didn’t want to burn Evan. He didn’t want anyone to hurt Evan, much less for him to be the one to do it.

But as he lay there, he had the sneaking suspicion that he already had.

When he had first kissed Evan, he hadn’t done it because he loved him, he had done it simply because he wanted someone to kiss. And Evan had kissed him back without any hesitation, eager and hungry as they fell into bed together. Barty had thought they wanted the same thing—someone to get off with, something easy and uncomplicated.

But afterwards, when Barty had said as much, he had seen something shatter in Evan’s eyes. Evan had mumbled a quick, “Right”, then made up some excuse to leave.

Barty had blinked, and Evan was picking up his clothes from beside the bed. He had blinked again, and Evan was gone.

But it had happened again. And then again. And it had kept on happening, until Evan wasn’t leaving immediately afterwards, and Barty had realized that he didn’t want Evan to leave at all.

That’s where it had gotten so incredibly complicated, full of messy emotions and misunderstandings. Full of cracked hearts and longing glances, words thought but never spoken.

Sometimes, Barty thought that if he were offered a magic ticket that could take him far away from all of it, take him away from the perilous cliff edge he was dangling off of, he didn’t think that he could refuse. Even if it cost more than money, Barty thought he would be willing to pay the price.

Because the price of the ticket for the other route, the one toward Evan instead of away, was something vital in Evan that Barty knew neither of them could afford.

Barty messed up, and he messed up bad. And he might dream of that destination, the one marked simply “Evan”, but he couldn’t let himself board that train. Evan’s loveliness wasn’t worth it.

So he merely laid there, silently staring at the boy he loved, and tried not to shiver as the goosebumps spread further across his skin.

[cookiescr]

for people who are good with music are the f's for g major scale and c major scale different or am i just hearing it wrong??

[yeahimcal]

“Being a girl is… easier.”

“For who?”

Nimona you and I are the same. Nimona I am not a girl. Nimona if I don’t shapeshift I’ll die. Nimona if I am not true to myself then who am I. Nimona easier for who? Nimona everyone wants to run me through with a sword and sometimes I want to let them.

I don’t owe people simplicity. If all people will see me as is confusing and unnatural then I will be confusing and unnatural. I don’t owe people and explanation. I am me. I am ME. I AM WHO I AM AND THAT CANNOT BE TAKEN AWAY. If all people will see me as is a monster I will be a monster. I will not explain who I am. I am me. That’s all I’ll ever be.

[sojutrait]

also i’ve started dungeon meshi and i’ve decided i have quite the affinity for this autistic man

[papaiyatree]

kara cass friendship hm

[bitedownme]

Scarlett King what do you think about the hanged king ?

: Doesn't seem interested in answering this in more detail either. :

[prismit]

THE BEHEADED VRCHAT AVATAR IS NOW COMPLETE AND AVAILABLE ON ALL PLATFORMS!

now features a friend! :)

link is in the replies!

[mearchy]

I know there are ardent Mace Windu defenders on here so can you guys explain why Mace Windu Did That with the Boba Fett situation. That is a genuine question and my biggest hang-up, I’m desperate to understand his thought process. Like, it would be considered a radically conservative move HERE in OUR WORLD to decide that a deeply traumatized 13 year old raised by a criminal who was then guided by a gang of adult criminals into committing acts of terrorism should be thrown into a HIGH SECURITY ADULT PRISON for YEARS as a punishment. How does Mace the monk in the religious order of justice not step in even nominally and go “hey this doesn’t seem wise or just. In fact this is deeply immoral. Why don’t you put this kid in a high security rehabilitation clinic. Why don’t you get him some therapy.” In fact if I remember correctly (?) Windu actively endorsed this course of action. In-universe explanation?

(Not an invitation to argue that trying kids as adults is morally right if what they’ve done is Bad Enough so they can be punished like adults. Because a) you’re wrong and b) shut up. Go read about prison reform. That’s not what I’m asking.)

EDIT: ANSWERED!!