grim reaper loves the pussy.
Asami likes you as you are Korra, you don’t need to be taller ;D
and I know sometimes it’s hard to tell, but I really do like Mako.
to this day, I think Azula is probably one of the most interesting villains. Ever.
Honestly, this scene made me feel choked up, because Azula obviously craved her Mother’s love, like Zuko had, but because she was so much more taken under her Father’s ‘wing’ as it were, she became a twisted version of who she would have been.
And this scene. This fucking scene.
Just take a step back and think:
- Her Mother is a hallucination here.
- Azula is bitterly saying ‘Even you fear me.’ And back at Ember Island, you learn that, even though she was a tiny terror, she was hurt because her Mother was scared of her.
- And the one thing that breaks Azula is the fact that a part of her knows exactly what her Mother would say. And she’d tell her she loves her.
- And she wouldn’t be angry, or disappointed. She’d be sad.
we have a rising artist in the making
if you eat a chicken and egg sandwich, you’re basically eating one thing at different times of its life
God bless Adventure Time
oh look, there’s a hole on your dashboard
THAT IS MY HOLE
it was made for me
Disney makes me laugh whenever they make something about Gaston
bringing this back because it still makes me actually cackle
life hack: be nice to people with a pool at their house
((DOODLES. For my Playtime AU. Marceline and Bonnie are around 12 and they start a babysitting service. Basically they’re dealing with puberty problems and just being really awkward pre-teens. MORE AU HERE. ))
She knows it’s a mistake as soon as their lips touch and Marcy’s go a little slack. Unexpected, frightful even, maybe. It’s hard to tell when she doesn’t move until Bonnie pulls back, schluffing her hands away from Marceline’s frozen face like unwanted dead skin.
This would be the point at which Bonnie would start jabbering, covering up what’s so damn obvious with more words than Marcy — or anyone except maybe FP, who has an awkward, choking-hazard handle on what Bonnie always tries so hard not to say — can wade through without a guide. But there’s nothing on her tongue but dryness and the linger of Marcy’s orange-soda lip balm.
“So, uh,” she manages finally. Marcy’s giving her this look like her brain’s not connected to her face anymore. “I — s-so, we — that isn’t, um. Sorry?”
Marcy finally blinks. Casts her eyes — whole face, really — down to the half-blackened laces of her patchwork sneakers.
“Nah, it’s, uh, you know.” she cuts off.
Here come the words up her throat now, and they taste terrible: “I know you don’t like girls and you’ve got Ash and oh glob Marcy I shouldn’t have done anything I know better we’re just friends and we have the service and I don’t want to ruin that please say it’s not ruined I’m sorry I just kind of did it and it’ll never happen again I promise —”
Finally she’s out of breath. Marcy doesn’t meet her gaze and Bonnie’s mouth is dryer than before even, her throat sandpapery and scared, oh, she’s so scared now.
“I don’t mind if —” Marcy stops mid-sentence. A peculiar weight settles in Bonnie’s chest. Her heart’s churning up her stomach and she feels like she might pass out, all clammy and shaking, but she has to ask.
“If, y’know. It happens again.”