#I want to take out the suit I don't have

[chodzacaparodia]

Please let Isagi lose, he's too used to winning all the time.

[eye-merely-jest]

hrrghgghbmnnmm x-men evolution nightcrawler….

i actually didn't care for him when i first started watching evo 'cause i thought him annoying as shit but now that is PRECISELY why i'm obsessed with him. Weird Kid™ kurt is just such an endearing concept and it's like he's just like me and I FUCKING LOVE THIS GUY SO MUCH

[cleromancy]

"tim needs to get a new mantle he didnt steal from his siblings" wrong. Say hello to the new huntress

[grineerios]

Mind Firm in Action - The Operator

[paintingraves]

House in season 6 kills me. He's really doing better, and he's off the Vicodin, and he's seeing a therapist, and he's moving forward by quitting because he knows that that's what he has to do to keep this momentum going.

He finds himself a new passion, he keeps connecting with people, he tries to put his old, miserable life behind one step at a time - and then suddenly you hear "And yet my leg hurts". It hurts because cooking isn't enough of a distraction, because cooking can't change the fact that the guy has half his thighs muscles missing - a literal hole in his leg - and all they gave him to handle his pain was ibuprofen. He is surrounded by doctors, and he is one himself, and yet they're all failing him when it comes to giving him a proper, thought-out pain management plan, as you do with chronic pain patients.

Yes, I know it's a series, I know they needed excuses and arguments and reasons to keep the plot moving forward and the series running for a few more seasons. Who would want to see House outside of PPTH, happy (or at least marginally less miserable) and pain-free, working as a researcher like he wanted - offering the occasional consult for a diagnosis but keeping his distance with his old life? It could work, but then the series wouldn't be called House MD anymore. It would, however, have been more hopeful, more realistic, and it could have spared us the slow descent back into misery that were the latter seasons.

It's just very frustrating to see someone on screen really try to make an effort and turn his life around for the better, in spite of how scary that may be, only to be knocked down by everyone around him - and by life - again and again.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

It's a somewhat random GW2 wish, but I'd love it if there were dyes specifically designed around being multicolor/iridescent/rainbow in some way. Like you plug them into the slot, and they give that piece an iridescent quality that causes color shifts depending on the lighting and angle, with different dyes having unique hue ranges.

So maybe you'd have a glossy flame one that ranges from bright yellow to deep red, or a glossy aquatic one with seafoam green to deep cobalt, or a straight up rainbow one that could be used for dragonvoid-esque aesthetics if you pair it with abyssal/shadow dyes.

[isfjmel-phleg]

🤐

[vermillioncrown]

i reached the end of astarion's quest

most of the time i've been content with letting my party members make their own choices and not moralize at them, so it makes my dialogue options at the end a matter of "how well do i know them and what they really want?" rather than me imposing my will upon them both as party lead and player

[katierosefun]

step 1 of watching suits: haha fun plot! look at this little guy pretending to be a law school graduate. yeah this won't have any consequences whatsoever

step 2 of watching suits: oh this little guy and that bigshot lawyer have some good chemistry. yeah they're both committing a crime by having him work at this new york big law firm but it's fun :)

step 3 of watching suits: they're actually facing consequences to their actions now, but oh god i don't want to see either of them lose. yes, they did something terrible but don't we all want to feel a bit special. don't we all feel stuck. doesn't our own ambition swallow us whole. don't we feel insanely loyal to the person who gave us everything. we're going down together. if you go, i go.

[hawkeyedflame]

.

[fairysylveon]

rubbing my temples a little thinking about tim takes

[milkteawithrusk]

you're making me wish you'd stop talking to me bc i don't think you have anything to say to me about anything except my academics. i can't even breath in your presence without you going on about how i should be learning

[articskele]

HEEEEYYY i think this is my first time telling you something directly but uuuhm i wanted to thank you for always reblogging my posts and not only that, always analyzing them and things like that THIS IS WHAT I APPRECIATE THE MOST JEKEJEK i llove reading all the tags you put and not only in my posts, in other things you reblog or post!!! soo yeah thanks‼️

AAAA thank you so much!!!! I love love love seeing all the little details in what people make, it's so fun :D

And sometimes art has a certain taste or feel to it? Like that "this is all so gratifying" art has an inexplicable coldness on the tip of my tongue? But it's subtle, like breathing in cool evening air mixed with the sting of smoke.

Something about the cool colors and the machinery and knowing this is the moment before everything goes wrong for him lol. I just adore how art can really get you immersed in the environment, especially with how you do backgrounds!!

[widowshill]

not for nothing that roger and jeff are wearing completely identical suits for vicki's wedding down to the same pearl stick pin and it's roger that is distinguished with the accessory and the visual emphasis. that roger wears the pocket square and jeff goes plain without one, without a boutonnière (as feels the most probable and appropriate; they both wear boutonnières in roger's prophetic dream of the wedding). that not only is he wearing the handkerchief, but it's folded in such a way as so take as much space as possible – straying from accepted formality of a neat TV fold, occupying more room on the screen, drawing more attention, pointing among other things to his heart in bright white.

[harleyification]

Hey look, I finally got to write some Moon Son!!! I’ve been heavily inspired by Lollipencil to start seriously writing for this AU, and so I decided to start at the beginning…how I think it all began. However, heed the tags, because this starts really dark. This idea has been traveling around in my brain for several months now, a culmination of A. Letting Marc and the others become a fist of Khonshu early, B. Their mother being shitty and abusive like in the show, and C. The comics interpretation of Marc possibly getting DID due to almost getting killed multiple times in his life.

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence (nothing too graphic but there is a lot of blood), attempted murder, attempted maternal filicide, hints of physical and mental abuse. Please be careful reading this, and enjoy.

It’s hard to breathe. His chest hurts, with every staggering breath making his collapsing lungs ache, each one sounding like a death rattle.

Because that’s exactly what it is – a death rattle.

Marc can’t remember how he got here tonight. The memories were blurry amongst the last few minutes, quickly fading away as blood loss settled in. Red pools dragged behind him in a trail as the teen desperately tried to crawl away from the monster behind him, trying to find help. But no one is around, it’s just the two of them, and she’s still looming over him like a predator that has caught their prey. Marc can see her shadow and the knife that she clutches in her hand.

Marc doesn’t look back around. The room is getting dizzy.. He needs to hurry, he– he doesn’t want to die, please– he’s only fifteen, and his life was shitty, and he hates his abusive mom and his neglectful dad who let it continue, but he never thought that she would ever go this far. He never fucking thought that she would ever take it this fucking far.

She’s saying something behind him, but the words hardly register. They sound shocked. There were repetitions of “...my god, my good lord, what have I done…”, but Marc doesn’t turn back around. He doesn’t care anymore. He’s so fucking scared, one hand clutching onto his wounds and the other grasping the wooden floor to slide himself away.

All of a sudden, the chattering from the monster came to an end. There was resolute silence for a mere second, the only sound being Marc’s labored and pained grunts. Then, the sound of shoes walking away, leaving him to die slowly and... alone.

But he doesn’t look back. He fucking can’t.

Not when the doors and the phone and help was so, so far away, and he’s losing himself rapidly.

“Help…” he calls out, but it sounds far away to him. One hand forward, pull his body with it. One hand forward…and pull…reach forward… and…

He’s slipping. He can feel it. It should be scary, but more than anything he is exhausted.

He comes to a rest at the foot of something hard. Gazing up tiredly, his blurry vision makes out the stone mask of some kind of bird-faced humanoid. It was small, miniature, meant to be a decoration for wherever they were. Funny enough, despite its uncanniness, Marc can’t look away. It was better to look at it than at his lonely surroundings, he kind of thinks…

He will close his eyes for a minute. Just for a minute…then he’ll…ask for help…

—

"Hmm… a little young to be a fist. A bit too young, maybe. But it has been centuries, and I require someone, anyone, to take up the role at last. What do you say, child? Would you like to live and get away from the ones who have hurt you most?

….

All I ask in return is that you shall fight in my name and do the bidding of the night. Protect travelers who walk underneath the stars, in every way that you must, no matter the deed. Whenever the shadows demand it, you must heed their calls. Protect the lost ones, as you were once before.

…

Good. Very well. This will be very interesting indeed. Now, sleep child. Your body must heal. I shall guide you to safety."

—

Wary eyes blink open to minimal light in a sea of darkness. He was dizzy, his eyes swimming momentarily as his hand reached up to rub his temples. The teen looks around, eyeing his surroundings with open confusion as everything registers around him.

He was in an alley. A dingy, fucked up one too, as it had trash everywhere and there were mysterious stains on the concrete not too far beside him. The sources of light were coming from street lamps that lit up the asphalt streets and illuminated the boy’s uncomfortable hidey-hole.

He gets up, grunting as his aching limbs protest. “What in the bloody hell…?” he mutters to himself as he cautiously steps out into the open, seeing no one in sight. The streets were empty, the city was silent, and there was no moon or stars to be seen in the smoggy sky.

And just as suddenly, the quiet was destroyed by the sound of distant gunshots. The teen looks towards their direction and makes a mental note to not fucking go anywhere near there anytime soon.

The boy steps further out into the light, and almost screams when he sees the sight of his own bloody hands and clothes. They were fucking caked in red, making the teen look down the front of his shirt to see where it was he was hurt.

But…there was nothing. He pulls up his sleeves, and his skin was still unharmed.

That just makes it worse though. He gulps, shoving his hands into his pockets as if it would hide the crime scene that he practically emits. If the blood isn’t his, and if he can’t remember where it came from…then that just makes things a hell of a lot harder to figure out.

Steven has woken up many times before in weird settings and situations, but waking up has never been like this before.

There was the sound of sirens now, police and ambulance alike. There was the gleam of a needle on the building’s corner that glowed in the streetlight, prompting Steven to walk even faster. There was even the distant resonant sound of hair-raising cackling, as if through a speaker.

“Sheesh. With this commotion, you’d think I’d somehow wound up in Gotham…” Steven grumbles as he hunches himself down lower, trying to be inconspicuous.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, or what’s going on, or what his plan is exactly, but…but there is always one thing Steve knows that he is good at and can rely on.

He can figure things out. He’ll be able to get through this and make his way back home, surviving on the streets if he has to. He’s sure of it.

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

It baffles me sometimes how Yakuza 0 is about the weight of taking a life and how death and killing is a big deal and then the rest of the series it's like lol no.

Female character? Kill her off with little fanfare and development. Helpful side character? Dies for the protag. Antagonist? Have them off themselves.

Characters whose deaths could've and probably should've carried more weight but we don't get enough focus or development on their character. Potential is often squandered. And yes, there is something hard hitting about losing a character before they truly had the chance to flourish, but when it keeps happening? We can't build on character bonds, that'd mean cutting down on substories!! What do you mean we've done this one before it's different now!!!

Not to mention when the franchise decides that completely fatal wounds Are Fine Actually They're Alive And Well All Along. And, y'know. The Heat Actions. Akiyama has kicked many men to death and you won't convince me otherwise.

Idk I like the franchise but I feel there's a bit of lack of tonal cohesion here and there. Notably.