deadpool being dadpool
Teddy | 19 | they/them | literally trash
Currently emptying out my likes, sorry if I reblog something from you from like 3 years ago
Mostly Marvel and Rooster Teeth, with some playlists and Homestuck thrown in. I tag everything.
"Who's this douchebag" - Ben
deadpool being dadpool
"They’re called Thestrals. They’re quite gentle really, but people avoid them because they’re a bit…"
↳ Harry Potter and the prisoner of Azkaban
Alfonso Cuarón had the idea to better establish the layout of Hogwarts to make it seem more like a real place and not simply a group of sets. “We started linking spaces,” Cuaron said. “You see that there’s the Great Hall, and right outside the Great Hall you see a hallway leading you to the staircases. And you take those staircases to the Gryffindor dorm. Or if you walk over the wooden bridge, you exit into a little garden of monoliths. When you go past the monoliths and down this specific path, you get to Hagrid’s hut.”
oh god that’s really sad :(
harry goes to bed one night, knowing that something’s on the brink of happening, a vague promise of a care home or a foster family, a social worker or miss honey-like figure who’s genuinely looking out for them, who saw this strange and ragged boy and was furious. and harry’s excited - he’ll have his own bedroom, and clothes that fit, and he’ll never be locked in a cupboard again. he’ll live somewhere far away, and without dudley there he will make friends at school, and have his own things and no cousins to break them.
and the next morning, this anonymous muggle women finds her to-do list inexplicably sparse for the day, and she worries that she’s forgotten something but the worry is only a reflex, so she takes the afternoon off and doesn’t think about it any more.
meanwhile, a nine-year-old wakes up in a cupboard, and thinks to himself in the darkness that it can only be a matter of years before he’s away from here.
I mean, it also makes me incredibly sad that from experience, it’s totally possible no-one ever did ring the police, or social services, or if they did it was overlooked and nothing ever came of it.
Was Harry even on the social services list? If it was all handled by the Wizarding authorities, his papers might have just been the kind of thing that you accept when they turn up on your school but there’s a load of red tape, like, protected identity stuff? Miss Honey figures waking up to find shadowing figures standing on her porch step, threatening her for getting too nosy and breaching secrets acts and being generally threatening, and what about all the other kids she has to look after and help and who are relying on her.
god this is all really sad and dark
Sam Wilson, who has wings made of metal and human imagination.
He was a paramedic. The maneuverability of his wings, the speed of his flight are all so he would be able to bring help to places no ordinary man could reach.
Imagine a soldier, stuck somewhere in the Alborz mountains, injured and dying, knowing that no helicopter can reach them, that no one would dare. Imagine looking up in your fever and seeing a pair of wings silhouetted against the sky.
Except, it’s not an angel coming to ease your way. It’s a black man, voice calm and reassuring, bandages and shots of antibiotic in his gear. He says his name is Sam and he asks you for yours. He asks you about your lover, about your kids, about the places you grew up in. Then he flies you off the mountain, trying to be gentle, but it’s jarring, because you’re alive.
You wake up in the hospital on your army base and you recover. You meet the man again and learn that there are more people with wings, a whole team and that when they take those wings off, they show you pictures of their dogs and buy you a beer.
Sam Wilson is a paramedic with wings. A healer and a savior.
Now, imagine Sam losing those wings. No, first, imagine him losing a soldier.
‘Is this the first time you lost a soldier?’ No, there were many, when the wings weren’t fast enough or when the blood flowed too freely. There were plenty of times you’ve sat down with someone who was saved by a different type of angel.
But losing someone who shares your sky? That’s different. That’s the sunshine melting the wax on your wings until they turn to feathers and you’re in freefall.
So you go back to Washington. It’s not the City of Angels, but it’s your city.
After a month spent sleepless, watching the skyline for some hint of a star, you walk into a Veteran’s center and you sit in a room full of people whose wings are clipped like yours.
You’re grounded now, but you can still heal, so you use your voice and try not to think of screams and broken metal feathers.
You take up running, because when you go really fast, it reminds you of the wind rushing against your face in freefall.
There, you meet a man that shines like the sun, blindingly enough to cover up his cracks. But you’re used to being closer to the sun than most. You see.
So you do what you were meant to: you heal and offer solace. First, with your words and then, when words aren’t enough, with your wings.
You take them out of storage and they call you Falcon.
Many of you were Falcons in the dry heat of the desert. Now, in a familiar skyline, you are alone.
You defend and you fight, because there can be no healing if there’s no one left to heal.
You are Sam Wilson and you have wings.
I like how cute and simplified Lyra is next to that Feraligatr and background
I am loving this image because it sparks that feeling of expanse and mystery that I mentioned. A lot of the art from the pokemon trading cards also gives me that feeling. Perhaps it has something to do with the environments in these images being sort of murky, foggy, and largely left to the imagination. The Pokemon seem animalistic and instinctual and the trainers look so small and vulnerable. It’s the feeling of being unafraid to explore these dangerous places and command these dangerous creatures. Pokémon is such a great escapist fantasy.