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❝what actually is a .jmj error?❞

Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan: The Final Season 2nd Key Visual Revealed

The second key visual, trailer, and staff of SnK’s fourth and final season have finally been revealed! It features Hanji, Sasha, Levi, Jean, Armin, Connie, and Mikasa post-timeskip.

The Final Season is being animated by Studio MAPPA and will begin airing on NHK-G, Crunchyroll, and Funimation on December 7th, 2020.

Related News: MAPPA || Photos: Official Art || Season 4

https://youtu.be/SHQltlNDkn4

We made a little Cosplay Music Video about Aled Last from “Radio Silence” by @aliceoseman ! 💜 We hope you’ll like it!

tony kaye actually stands for “thighs out nice ylegs, kant avert your eyes”

1972 Dean Ellis cover art for James White’s “The Watch Below”

Whump drabble: gasoline

Llewyn is wakened by the heavy splash of cold liquid falling over his torso.

He jolts up: gasping, confused, and shocked into wakefulness, and the taste of it in his mouth alerts him before even the smell of it does.

This is gasoline.

"Ben?" he gasps, his mouth falling open as wet hair sags into his face. His delicate hands grip the too-thin, too-soggy mattress beneath him, and small spurts of gas bubble up from where his fingers dig in. Everything is soaked.

The stench has already given him a headache.

"You slept too long," Ben says dismissively, as if that explains anything, and then he dumps the rest of the contents on the boy.

Llewyn shoots his hands up defensively, but there's so much of the stuff that it doesn't do much. When the plastic canister is empty and Ben throws it to the floor with a hollow thunk, Llewyn is spitting and sputtering and trying to find something to wipe his eyes with. His grey t-shirt is now black with the slick, oily substance. The cut across his cheek is stinging anew.

He looks up at Ben, jutting his chin out. "What is this?" He spits, blinking his eyes clean.

"It's gasoline," Ben monotonizes. He looks down on him boredly. "You put it in your car to make it go."

"I know what it is," Llewyn hisses, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. The rude, pungeant awakening has made him tense; has weakened his control over his own back-talk. Were his sinuses not currently clogged with gas, he might be a little more careful with his tone. "I meant why is it on me? Did you forget what a fuel tank looks like?"

"I'd watch your mouth," Ben says quietly, and he's fussing with something on the inside of his jacket. From his pocket, he produces a small box of matches.

Llewyn falls silent. Even his breath stops, caught in his chest.

"What did I do?" He whispers, after a moment passes where it is clear that Ben isn't going to move. He is starting to feel light-headed. "Tell me what I did."

Ben shrugs. Turns the matchbox over and over in his palm. "Maybe you can tell me."

Shaking his head, Llewyn keeps his eyes trained on that box; those nimble fingers flipping it over. "I can't," he breathes. "I don't know what... I thought I was doing fine."

"Will you be doing fine after I send you up in flames?"

Ben asks it so casually that for a second, Llewyn forgets to react. "Please," he says hurriedly after the small delay. "I don't know what I did wrong! You don't have to--"

"Hold this for me, will you?"

Ben lights a match.

And he holds it out toward his captive.

Llewyn pushes himself back against the wall, eyeing the small flame with fear-widened eyes. He sucks his tummy in, as if holding no air in his lungs will make him invisible. Allow him to escape. He is acutely aware of every sticky drop of gasoline on him: dripping from his hair onto his neck, drying in the dips between his fingers, making his shirt cling wetly to his shoulders.

"Take it, Llew."

He shakes his head.

"If you won't take it from me, I'll just have to throw it and hope you don't have butter fingers."

Llewyn swallows. He is out of options. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and takes the bottom of the match in the very tips of his fingers. He stares at it, holds it an arm's length away from him, the orange light blurred by the tears welling in his eyes. The match has been burning for a few seconds, and the flame is already halfway down. Llewyn stares at it, then Ben, then back at it.

"Let me blow it out," he manages to squeak out.

"Not yet, angel. I want to see how far it can go."

"Please," Llewyn moans, voice strangled, as he looks at Ben with terrified, tear-filled eyes. He can feel the heat on his fingertips.

Ben says nothing, and Llewyn imagines catching fire, his whole body bursting into flame. Nobody would find his blackened remains down here.

Unable to stand it any longer, he blows the match out.

Ben's fist connects with his jaw before the smoldering match can even hit the floor. Llewyn's head hits the wall with a smack and he groans, but Ben grabs him by the face before he can move.

"You will not disobey me, Llewyn."

"Why are you doing this?" The boy quivers.

The smirk on Ben's face is a death sentence.

"Yesterday, you told me you wished you could die. Now, I already knew you were a liar..." Ben says, removing another slender match from its box. "But I need you to know it, too."

He lights the match.

"Take it."

Llewyn can only do as he's told.

“Why?” Lord Rowan asked her. “Look at them. They’re young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?”    

“Because it will not last,” Catelyn answered, sadly. “Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming.”

- Catelyn II, aCoK

Illustrated one of my favourite Brienne and Catelyn moments :) Loved that one so much that one my first read that i put an ear into the page…

Happy birthday, @bidonica !! <3

High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts The ones she had lost and the ones she had found And the ones who had loved her the most

florence welch as jenny of oldstones

had to get this out of my head, hope it helps someone!

you worry the cardboard sleeve around the coffee and think about landfills and the future without straws. you are worried about prion disease and deer. you are worried about the rising temperature of mushrooms. you are worried about teflon and microplastics and carcinogens and whatever else you're being quietly lied to about.

your mother used to jokingly say you are "a worrier," which always kind of oddly hurt your feelings. you feel like a person. and besides, you've been told one-million-times that this is normal. examples get trotted out in a pony show each time: everyone gets nervous sometimes. they talk about public speaking and picturing people naked and how when they get nervous they just-get-over-it.

you run your hands down the grater of your life and feel the sharpness. you started holding your breath in tunnels as a kid, worried that if you relax, the ceiling would cave in. like years of architects and engineers weren't responsible - you, and your faith, you were responsible for the success of infrastructure. if you slipped for a moment, your whole family would be swept away under the ocean. and the problem is that it worked - no tunnel collapsed.

you once broke a coffee carafe and even though you didn't drink from it after, you worried that there had been some previous invisible micro-break that had made you drink glass particles. you stayed awake for 24 hours, constantly dreading each swallow, waiting to taste blood.

you hate being late, you worry about it. you go to grab literally just lunch with a friend - no pressure, no emergency - and you still park the car an hour early and just sit there scrolling on your phone aimlessly. maybe you just don't like surprises or change. you triple-check you locked the doors, and then go to bed, and then get up out of bed to check twice again.

a worrier. like a strange and dreadful bingo card, you collect weekly experiences. someone tells you that you're overthinking, that's 2 points. you have to physically turn around and go back in your house to check you unplugged everything, that's 1 point. spiraling about climate change or politics or the state of the world is a free space, that's basically every evening.

you worry you're being selfish and not a good person because how come you're worried about your dog's health and the itch in your eye when you know people who are really very ill or who have it worse or who are genuinely struggling. then you worry that you're being annoying by infantilizing them. then you worry that your priorities are wrong, that you should be infinitely more worried about the state of a dying planet.

you wanted to be a person, is all. you wanted to go through life in a softness, to hold the world gently and have it whisper past you. and instead you are a worrier. everything that touches you is hard and raw and sharp like diamonds.

[@mettatonmay day 30: fanclub]

to lie on the ground and feel like garbage

there's something so compelling about stories where a character's virtues intensify into flaws that lead to their downfall. loyalty and love becoming so all-consuming that compassion outside of them ceases to exist. duty overwhelming any moral compass until order becomes more important than justice. selflessness so intense it becomes self-destruction. let me watch while whatever saved the hero in the beginning destroys them. let me see them fall to their own worst impulses disguised as what once made them good.

humanstuck sollux doodles yayyy ( i either see him like this or like mclovin sorry )

Back on the bench

And again, and again…

band practice