they know!!!!!

Finished up the second sketch of that cute moment between the Blue Boi Ethan(@crankgameplays) and Chica in the stream yesterday. 💕

  • Galen & Lyra: you will never win
  • Krennic: never winning? ๐Ÿ˜ง you can do ANYTHING ๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿป๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿป if you have FAITH in the Empire ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ‘Š๐Ÿป stay GRINDING โœ”๏ธ๐Ÿ‘ŒโœŠ๐Ÿป build the DEATH STAR 24/7 ๐Ÿ‘ˆ๐Ÿป๐Ÿ‘ˆ๐Ÿป in the WINNING SIDE ๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿป๐Ÿ˜ค๐Ÿ˜ค make them acknowledge your ACHIEVEMENTS ๐Ÿ’ฏ๐Ÿ’ฏ๐Ÿ’ฏ i always WON ๐Ÿ˜Ž๐Ÿ˜ŽโœŒ๐Ÿป
MTG Community Idea!!!

So y’all with Amonkhet about to start taking over the Community I had a great idea!

AN MTG COMMUNITY REWARD SHOW!!! (Not really a show but a post!)

Like, whenever a new Magic set drops we all vote on things like… 
Best Overall Card In The Set
Best New Character
Best New Mechanic
Best Magic Story
Best Planeswalker
And so on an so forth!

So what do y’all think?? Who wants to do this with me??? :D



anonymous asked:

id totes be interested in more amnesia tbh

well the thing about retrograde amnesia (the head injury amnesia that makes you lose information acquired before an injury/illness) is that you can slowly recall memories via spontaneous recovery and the brain’s plasiticity so

imagine eventually as they adjust to life at home (jake has pretty much moved back in, where as before he was travelling and generally. getting lost) dirk starts to remember. remembers in bits and pieces his and jake’s past relationship. where he was a neurotic asshole and if there’s one universally consistent fact about dirk strider its his self hatred. doesn’t want to remember because he doesn’t want to face himself, someone that could do wrong by jake english

can’t bring himself to face jake as he slowly remembers this relationship that, in his mind, was his fault for driving jake to run away in the first place and why is he here now and jake doesn’t know what to do because dirk won’t tell him what’s wrong so all he does is. hold him there

something something this is all just a ploy for character h/c and finally end w fluff and two people learning what they mean to each other. or something

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

3

Recently I was talking with another reptile keeper about reptiles and scents. They said that some reptiles are repelled by the scent of superworm beetles (Zophobas morio). I do not know if this is true or not, but as stinky as these beetles are when you mess with them I could definitely see some reptiles or some animals in general being repelled by the scent of them!

So today I decided to test this info out and see if Odin is repelled by the beetle stink! As many of you know Odin and beetles do not mix well! To remove the risk of Odin eating a beetle I decided to risk my sense of smell and harass some of my adult superworm beetles with a napkin to get the napkin nice and stinky for this test! The answer ended up being NO it doesn’t matter how stinky these beetles are Odin still wants to eat them!!!!

Also for Odin taking the time to participate in this test he got some treats from the bug bin immediately afterwards!  

anonymous asked:

Also have people forgotten what motivates Rick? And that it makes him different from Negan? Rick Grimes loves. He loves his children and Michonne and he loves his people. He doesn't want to be their overlord, he wants to be a father, a husband, a friend. Do you think Negan is as tender with his "wives" as Rick is with Michonne? Do you think Negan would've defended the children at Oceanside like Rick did? No because Negan takes delight in the horror, Rick takes delight from his beloved ones.

hal, john and eddie in some fucked up situation in space: *space oddity starts playing over the ship’s speaker*

john, hanging his head in his hands: oh for christ’s sake

eddie: ground control to major tom…

hal: commencing countdown engine’s on…

john: please don’t 

eddie: check ignition…

hal: and may god’s love be with yoooooouuuuuuuuu 

john: *deep sigh*

hal: get ready!!!

hal, john and eddie, at top volume: THIS IS GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM, YOU’VE REALLY MADE THE GRAAAAAADE

Hey.

So, like, a lot of my friends are online and stuff and so I thought now would be a good time to post this.

I’ve been, uh. Fucking around in terms of gender for a long time, whether I spoke about it or not. It’s never been a topic that I’ve been really educated on nor really had an outlet to receive the kind of education I need. I never really felt comfortable, yknow? Being a guy. And even after I switched to like, agender, I still felt like something was off. I didn’t like the way my “they” felt.

So. Um. After.. a really long period of time and whatever, I’ve come to a conclusion that makes me happier than I’ve felt in a long time. And that’s, uh, that would be that I’m a girl. I’m mobile right now so I can’t update any of my pages, but… if you guys could start using she/her for me, effective immediately, that’d be cool.

Inspired by @mindyourhelm‘s post and my angsty brain

She shifts onto her side again, resolutely avoiding looking at the other side of the bed. She can feel the cold, empty spot from behind though, a slight breeze gusting across her neck where his comforting breath should be. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying not to imagine strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close, heat spreading along her spine right through her, warming her all the way to her heart.

A lone tear slides across her nose, making a trail across her face and dropping onto the pillow. She presses her lips together, willing her chin to stop trembling and blinks until her vision has cleared enough to stare at the alarm clock. 3:47am. Her phone sits silently on the bedside table.

She’s grown soft. The girl who could sleep under bridges, in a room full of fidgeting foster kids, on the hard plastic mattress of a jail cell, she can’t sleep in her own king-sized bed under a thick, downy comforter. She’s grown soft and she didn’t regret it, doesn’t regret it, because he dismantled her walls one by one and made himself a home inside, only now he’s not there and having no walls doesn’t keep the warmth in very well when the source has disappeared.

Pressing her hands to her eyes, she sits up again, swinging her feet one at a time onto the cold wood. She should put on socks, she thinks, but there’s something comforting about the numb weight of her toes sliding across the floor.

She goes downstairs because sitting in that room - their room - any longer, when she’s clearly not going to sleep, feels pointless. Halfway towards the light switch by the front door she pauses, changing course for the kitchen and leaving the room in the dark. The ghost of her four-hours-ago self flicking that same switch off is still too close. There’s nothing (no-one) to see with the lights on anyway.

Her hands fumble in the kitchen cupboard for the tin of hot chocolate powder, spending several minutes clutched too tightly around the bottle of Captain Morgan at the back of the shelf. The shaking of her hand from clenching the glass reminds her to let go and she feels for the tin, pulling it down and setting it on the counter. Every creak of the porch in the wind sounds like it could be a footstep.

Making the hot chocolate is an automatic process, but she still burns her thumb on the pan, tears springing to her eyes at the pain and then lingering too long. She presses her lips together, refusing to blink until the cinnamon is dusted on the top of the milk and she knows they won’t spill over.

The silhouettes of heavy snowflakes dash across the kitchen blinds as she picks up her mug. Her thumb is stinging, heat spreading fiercely from the epicentre of the burn. She focuses on that one glowing spot of pain, letting it drown out her heart. It leads her towards the front door and then she’s sitting on the top step of the porch, pressing her thumb into the snow building on the step below until it’s numb with cold.

Her eyes flick upwards towards the gate in the white picket fence - the same one she rushed out of not three days ago to kiss him and bring him in and feed him her milk dud popcorn until their teeth hurt from the sugar and he kissed the chocolate smears off her mouth as he pressed her into the mattress later that night. She takes a gulp of the hot chocolate but it burns her tongue and the boiling liquid burning a path down through her to her stomach is the wrong kind of warmth.

Pulling her numbed fingers from the snow, she wraps them around her mug and sucks in a deep breath. The thick flakes are slowing and she’s shaking in her thick winter pyjamas, watching clouds of warm air leave her mouth and disappear almost instantly in the chill.

I can’t lose you too.’

The snow has almost stopped and the air is full of deadened silence. Her traitorous ears wait for the crunch of snowy footfall but she should know by now that waiting never brought anyone back for her before.

She’ll just sit on the steps until she’s finished her drink.