#she will trust me to do that and let me

[galindatopland]

update: successfully gave my dog subcutaneous fluids today 🥳

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

massages forehead So Ambessa hid Mel away because she was a weapon in the literal sense, a mage. But Ambessa came to Piltover for Hextech? And Ambessa had nothing to say to Mel about her powers having visibly awakened? Even when Mel offered to go with Ambessa, giving her the ultimate opportunity to make Mel a weapon for real? And Ambessa made no attempt to find or retrieve Mel - not just her daughter and the remnants of the family Ambessa professes to love, but also her ultimate weapon - when she disappeared? And Ambessa trusted Singed and Viktor on their home turf - neither of them hiding how insane and self-serving they are with every reason to take over Ambessa's soldiers or just blatantly turn on her as soon as it benefits them - more than she trusted Mel? While Caitlyn (and by extension Piltover) was visibly and clearly falling away from Ambessa's teachings before Ambessa's eyes? (as if getting rid of certain people allows piltover to get rid of fascism but we won't get into All That)

Not only do I struggle to be hyped for Mel's powers beyond how amazing and beautiful she looks, but I can't help but feel like Mel is somehow less powerful in season 2 than she was in season 1, and not in an interesting way. As if Mel's ability to bend all of Piltover politics and economics to her will in season 1 now means nothing in season 2? You can argue that Jinx's attack led directly to Mel losing ground in Piltover - because I expected Mel to have to claw back that power without being able to rely on people who are too easily seduced by Ambessa and authoritarianism, and she would have to get creative to go toe to toe with her mother. I expected pushback to her mage identity that she would have to navigate. But instead this went either unwritten, or was ignored or discarded. Instead Mel is removed from the main plot, cutting her off from what made her the most interesting - only for all of Mel's very real talents, her very real powers and abilities, to be not only translated but REPLACED with magical powers she doesn't know how to control, and by the finale, those magic powers are the only powers that are considered real. Mel takes a backseat to Piltover's governing and decisions, a backseat to Jayce of all people who was not only new to politics mere months ago but made poor governing, strategic, and diplomatic decisions when he had that power. In season 1 Mel stayed off the "throne" but she did pull its strings one way or the other, and she makes no attempt at this in season 2

In my least generous suspicions, Mel was gentled and quieted to capitulate to an agenda for other characters who had to be correct and heroic - or wrong and villainous - no matter what the leadup narrative said, given her powers to help sell the game and set up future shows, and was effectively ejected from the Arcane story with faceless soldiers and a role she doesn't want because she was inconvenient there

[boarloved-art]

ig ooomfie said i should draw xuanli and i kinda went crazy abt them whoopsydoodle

[tadc-survival-isles]

Her first design pass is finally done!! Yippee!!!

Imma be honest shes basically been done for about a week now, I just got distracted with other things and then struggled with her colors a wee bit. Since this is the first pass things may change as I draw her more, but tbh Gangles design hasn't changed at all and Jaxs design had very minor tweaks (no more blots or the attempt at whiskers: both cluttered his design and added nothing) so--

The girly pop ever!! I hope you guys also like her design a decent amount because I will be drawing her a lot more now that she has a design since I have ideas.

The next may actually be Pomni, but it could very well be Zooble since they just need colors. Or it could be neither if I finally have an idea for Kinger or Caines designs who knows at this point.

[wazzi2ya]

Octavia sees Blitzø as her replacement in Stolas' life. Blitzø sees Octavia as an addition to his own.

[cloysterbell]

Pete, I need you to stay here.

[crustyfloor]

Mizi loves her friends, her family, so much. so I wonder how she will feel and what she'll do if and when she finds out Ivan, one of her second closest childhood friends is dead now and Till, the last of her childhood friends is still alive, but so...so different from the last time she saw him. How will she cope with the fact that she lost another one of her family members again? and all this happening after she lost and is still grieving Sua? (I am going to self-annihilate!!)

[swagveryswagamazinf]

follow the light

[justaz]

Post s2, Jinx travels the world (what’s the name?? Runeterra?? Right?) and cons her way into free rooms and food by claiming her name is Caitlyn Kiramman. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong. Piltover became a global trading post and the Kirammans were already a wealthy and renowned family before. Being Jayce’s sponsor and Piltover being put on the map bc of Hextech and Caitlyn being dictator leader of Piltover for some time also made her name carry a bit of weight. But no one’s really seen her??? All they know is she’s pretty and has blue hair. Jinx just plays the dead mom card when being questioned (“I just had to see some of the world…as my mother always talked about when she was still alive…😔”) and people just let her be and give her what she wants.

Stories of the odd Kiramman girl spreads all the way back to Piltover and people make jokes at Caitlyn and Vi and they’re just like “???? Wtf are you talking about??” And then people have to explain and that’s how Vi finds out her sister is still alive, bc she’s shitting all over the Kiramman name by just. Being her. And pretending to be Caitlyn. While being herself. “Caitlyn Kiramman” isn’t as fearsome as it was before anymore bc now people just associate the name with Jinx and her chaos rather that the Caitlyn Kiramman

[tackykachowch]

What's so funny about Jinx smelling Vander's jacket to me is not even that it's inconsistent with the story at this point (i. e. Vander is alive so there is no reason for her to smell his jacket, plus she didn't have a close relationship with him anyway), but because we already had a coat for her to interact with that was established IN SEASON 1 FINALE. SHE TOOK SILCO'S COAT OFF OF HIM. WHERE DID IT GO????? And most importantly why Jinx doesn't care about it at all despite her still coming to his office to "talk" with him? Like. You would think that Jinx, who still keeps keepsakes of her lost loved ones, would take some of Silco's things to remind her of him, but nah. We need a stupid thing with Vander and Silco's jackets where she doesn't even properly interact with the right one.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[cirrus-grey]

I do feel it might be important to point out-

MAG100:

MARTIN: Sorry again that the Archivist isn’t actually in today, um… but I should be… absolutely fine to take your statement if it, um, if that’s okay with you?

LYNNE: Er… yeah.

We don’t actually see it happen, but it’s very likely that Martin introduced himself to Lynne/Celia with his full name here before turning the tape on – he already knows her first and last name to do the statement intro a moment later.

MAG190:

CELIA: Sorry, we haven’t been introduced, you are…?

GEORGIE: Oh, um, of course, sorry. This is –

ARCHIVIST: Jonathan. Jon. Sims.

MARTIN: Uh, Martin. Hello!

…And she gets Jon’s full name in the tunnels, as well as a reminder that a “Martin” associated with the Institute is traveling with him. It’s impossible to say how much she remembers from the time before the apocalypse, of course, but I do think it’s likely that Celia has known Jon and Martin’s names this whole time, and has simply been waiting for the right moment to bring Sam in to help her look for them in this new world, too.

[theonescreencap]

i was rereading through arlong park as you do, and remembering this moment gutpunched me. like i already know nami is dead-set on fixing everything alone and not asking for help because she's afraid of hurting the people she loves but like this is why

basically the last thing she did before being taken to join arlong's crew was ask for help. and even genzo, who's like a father to her, strong, and a leader, someone she trusts, was fucking powerless to do anything. this is what happens when you make other people help you, nami. this is what happens when you cry. if you want to save them you can't do that anymore. this arc is fucking insane (positive)

[mcytegg]

Roshambogames Teammate tierlist 👍

its basically just my incredibly biased personal opinion on who i think ro would work well w in a team. (mapicc gets his own tier bc he is mapicc.)

[wormboytrav]

What will I do when I don't have you? When I finally get what I deserve

"Oceanographer's Choice," The Mountain Goats

ref used^^^

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.