#truly one of the games of all time

[supagogoman]

Making Blue Stinger fanart in 2023

[ho3sferatu]

For the ask game: 💫, 🍦 and 📱?

💫 How did you discover the sims franchise?

I think I was like... 7? and my childhood friend showed me this cool new game she had on her computer. We spent half the time building stuff and the other half setting sims on fire. We were also both 😲 when we realized same sex sims can kiss. Joy!

🍦 How long have you been playing the sims?

Ever since the aforementioned time! I think at that point Living Large and House Party expansions were out. Unfortunately I never had a good computer so I could only play at home until Unleashed. I remember loading community lots took literally 30 minutes because my computer was so bad. Later expansions simply wouldn't run, so I instead played them at my grandmas house and envied the kids who could do it freely at home 😭

📱 What made you want to start a simblr?

I was spamming my friends with my silly feratus until they told me to start a blog. So I did 💖

[tomachamon]

i remember first time i played tf2 i went to bed right after and i kept hearing the shooting and screams when i closed my eyes i felt like a war veteran coming home with ptsd

[rebloggingrexan]

#i read an amnesiac at first and nothing else and thought “oh like pmd”

I don't know how to tell people that my all time hyperfixation is a game about

-an amnesiac

-a child with codependency issues

-the grim reaper with a debilitating fear of mortality

-an onion

-and a gecko with a martyr complex

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy one year anniversary to In Stars and Time!

[blueskittlesart]

Hello hi I hope you know the "aigis earnestly asking for lesbian sex" post saga lives rent free in my mind. Internalized homophobia speedrun kotone%. Also your art is so pretty

this is fr what playing the end of aigis's route for the first time felt like. I was losing my mind the entire time

[red-moon-at-night]

After doing some research on the types of pets people had in ancient Greece, I'd like to imagine that Helen is the sort of person who has a whole menagerie of birds — and she loves each and every one of them very, very much.

It fits well with her being good at mimicry, you know. Talking and imitating and singing with her beloved birds 💜

Close up under the read more:

I had to include that one necklace from the minoan 'saffron goddess' fresco because it's my favourite thing Ever

[fivescocoa]

hear me out. kevin, fresh outta the nest, getting hooked on house md. he's bingeing the first season on DVD and aaron's pre-med ass passively watching bc it's just on in their dorm, yknow? at first hes just there to criticize all the questionable malpracticey stuff and like half the time he's off to the side sitting at his desk barely even able to see the TV... but then he genuinely gets so invested. he moves to the couch every time kevin puts it on, not even pretending to do homework anymore. and then just kevaaron watching house season 2 live every week and chatting about it animatedly. aaron making popcorn for it and kevin stealing some. i think that would be so happy for them

[moeblob]

Yeah! I haven't read any fics focusing on them but I have seen that they exist! And also there's like a five sentence interaction in a fic I read ages ago that lives rent free in my brain. I think about it all the time when I draw Sixty.

[kickedin17]

There's something about blurryface (album) that's kind of like. Sticky. In the way that your skin is sticky when it's summer and it's past midnight and you have the window open to try to sleep but it's still too warm. Or, sticky, in the way that your hands are clammy when it's drop dead winter and you're driving around someone else's suburb, looking down the weird little leftover alleys between houses and wondering if something's going to be standing there looking back at you. And you are profoundly lonely. And you walk to a gas station, it's september maybe, and everything smells like spilled gasoline and stale cigarette smoke and there's brightly colored trash in all the gutters and all the neon signs glare off the asphalt, and when you go into the convenience store the single employee looks at you like maybe there's something weird about you, but you don't know what it is. Too quiet, maybe. Something wrong with your face. You don't smile enough. You don't want to be smiled at. It's dark all the time. But it's also springtime and the sky is pink and everything feels fleshy and delicate and rabbit-esque (tiny little heartbeats bursting everywhere), and you pick the first dandelion you see growing through the sidewalk cracks and it gets sticky milk all over your fingers. And you are profoundly lonely. You're pretending things would be better if you lived in a city where it rained more often and you could feel the hum of passing train tracks under your feet, but the truth is you're going to be lonely everywhere you go because there's this sticky ugly hollowness in you that you can't wash off no matter how hard you scrub. And maybe it would be better if you drove back home and closed the window and never left your house again and let all the lightbulbs die because something about the dark hurts less. You're running from something. What is it? Why can't you ever quite catch your breath? Why are you so sure this all has to end badly? You grew up but haven't yet learned how to grow out of anything. It's dark all the time here. Your face isn't the right one but there are no other faces. Your skin is sticky and you can't sleep. You are profoundly lonely.

[3-aem]

the shibuya arc is almost over, i still cant believe it started off with 5 episodes of teen gojo and suguru having the best and then the worst time of their lives all to the back drop of a slice of life setting. I think i will always chose to live in those first 5 episodes they dedicated an entire marketing campaign to.

[doyouknowthisgame]

[vigilskeep]

um calenhad aeducan lore. known fondly as prince cal by the people of orzammar and also me. he’s called that after the founder of the theirin line, because after ferelden successfully rebelled against orlesian rule, orzammar was like oh fuck we’ve got to repair that relationship as if we didn’t just sit by the whole time that was happening. so there were a bunch of these kind of uh diplomatic publicity stunts happening around the time he was born. and nothing about his life has ever not been someone else’s angle

his mother was one of endrin’s lesser concubines from a lower status house, and every jealous eye turned in her direction when she bore the king a son. despite that, endrin’s queen took her and the baby under her wing. it wasn’t entirely altruistic. the queen had no sons of her own, so cal could serve instead as her “contender” for heir against trian, the son of her long-time rival, a favoured concubine called lady rosdrada. the queen also happened to be a notable warrior, a powerful reaver, who died years later on a deep roads expedition under mildly suspicious circumstances, with many blaming lady rosdrada. (she was never publicly accused but neither did the king ever marry her and allow her to rise to the queen’s vacant place, a fact bitterly resented by her faction.)

cal’s mother, who returned the queen’s protection and favour with fierce loyalty, was first among rosdrada’s accusers. furious that punishment never came, she changed almost overnight from a shy, humble woman to a politician who could in her own right engage in the life or death battle for succession, raising her son to be the fulfilment of the late queen’s ambitions. he was trained since childhood in both the ways of princely charm and the ways of a reaver warrior, all to be the vengeance of a woman whose face he sometimes struggles to remember. perhaps there was a time, as boys, when he tried to be a brother to trian despite it all, but with his mother’s teachings always in his ears and trian less bearable each year, he’s long since accepted that deadly conflict between them is inevitable. he’s never eager to be the ruthless aeducan prince, but he’s always done his duty, however ugly. he never turns down the foul-tasting reaver concoctions, or quakes when he’s sent to the deep roads. he always defends his house’s honour and makes the point in blood. anything less is death; his mother tells him so

he doesn’t truly want the throne. he just wants more than anything to have the weight of expectations off his shoulders, and to no longer dread that his mother, his second, and all who support them will pay the deadly price of his failure. he’ll jump blindly at the chance to get this fight over with—and that’s all the opportunity bhelen ever needed

[reverentwormpriest]

he found me crying 😭 he crew too 😭 we both crode. 😭😭😭

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Smell Check [Easy: Failure]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 1 (part 2 - part 3)

[gaysparkler]

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here

Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Garden" Read on AO3 Spoilers for the choice directly following "A Warden's Best Friend" under the cut!

Rook was pacing. Emmrich could hear them go from room to room withing the Lighthouse – and no doubt in the courtyard, though there was no way he could be certain. There had been an air of disquiet around them, and that, Emmrich could say with certainty, was due to the number of difficult decisions they had been forced to make. As a Watcher, Emmrich knew how sheltering the Grand Necropolis could be. The “choice” boiled down to which classes to take, which role to ascend to, which tasks to do for the day, what to eat for each meal.

Not which city should be saved, and which should burn. Not thrusted with the fate of the world in their hands.

Emmrich wondered if he could even handle it half as well as Rook had, though part of him wondered how much was hidden away from them all. From him, despite his and Rook’s not-so surprising closeness.

Perhaps, then, it was not surprising to see Rook push past the doors to the laboratory, their dark circles remarkably worse than usual. The door closing behind them was heavy and loud in the previous quiet of his reading. They stood in the middle of the laboratory and fidgeted with their glove in silence, mouth twisted in a frown. The sound of Emmrich’s book closing seemed to make Rook remember why they were here.

“Could I help you with anything, Emmrich?” They spoke again before Emmrich could answer. “Please, I just—I need…something normal. Something real.”

In the dim light of the room, Emmrich could see tears pearling in Rook’s eyes. He carefully set his book aside before standing and gently approaching them, as if the wrong move would send them running.

“It’s not much,” he said as he extended a tentative hand towards Rook, “but there are some bones that could use some sorting.”

Rook let go of their glove to grasp Emmrich’s hand, and nodded. A tear slipped. Emmrich watched it slide down their cheek, leaving a trail of kohl in its wake. Before he could think, he raised his other hand to Rook’s face and caught the tear with his thumb.

“I—” he stammered, “please forgive me—”

But Rook only closed their eyes and leaned into his touch, wisps of jet-black hair falling across their features, weightlessly. Emmrich heard them take a slow breath in, and out.

“I can handle some sorting,” they finally said, keeping their eyes closed. “I wouldn’t be worth much as a Watcher if I couldn’t.”

“Now, now. None of that.” He tapped Rook’s cheekbone with his thumb before slowly sliding his hand away from their face so he could fetch the adorned box containing the unidentified bones he had brought with him from the Necropolis. He carefully placed it on his examination table, and gently tipped it over so the bones would spill, without rolling too far, on the marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rook worrying at their bottom lip. The weight of the world, on such delicate shoulders…

“Right,” he said, cheerfully. “We’re all set!”

Manfred, on the second floor, gave an excited hiss. And that was what Rook needed to crack the smallest of smiles. They made their way to the table, on Emmrich’s opposite side, and the moment they started their work, the tension in their face and body disappeared. Something normal, usual. Something that did not generate an impossible amount of doubt, guilt, and hypothetical similes.

“Thank you,” Rook whispered without looking at him, their voice rough with tears.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied as he watched their fingers deftly and carefully handling each individual bone, and already beginning to separate them in neat categories. In that moment, Emmrich wished he could have seen Rook fully in their environment, in the Necropolis. To see them fully immersed in their work, how their necromantic talents manifested outside of combat, know them as they are—pressures of apocalypse removed. But would that truly be the person in front of him now?

Emmrich finally reached forward, his fingers brushing against Rook’s, and joined them in their meticulous sorting.

-

Their work finished and laid out in precise reconstructions (partial, in some cases) on Emmrich’s slab before them, Rook finally looked up at him, and to his heartbreak, fear remained in their eyes. Emmrich laid his hand on one of few cleared areas of the table, his palm up and inviting.

“Rook?” he softly called. Their hand found his.

“Pénthos,” they said almost in a whisper. “My name.”

An old Nevarran word, before the trade tongue was favoured.

Mourning.

Their dark eyes, sunken in purple deep as bruises, said everything he needed to know.

Do not let this be forgotten. I beg you.

“Pénthos,” Emmrich repeated, inclining his head towards them. “You look tired. You should sleep.”

They scoffed. “Everyone’s been telling me that.”

“Then that should provide you with enough evidence to lend it credibility.”

“I know that,” Rook—Pénthos sighed, “I know…that I should sleep. I just—I can’t.”

And just like that, the tension that Emmrich worked (not so) hard to dispel returned to their body. Pénthos began fidgeting with their gloves again and picking at their lip—and it broke his heart. He wished so dearly there was something, anything he could do to help once more and then—

Manfred appeared behind them, holding a tray of freshly brewed tea.

“Well,” Emmrich said, “may I invite you to stay for tea?”

Pénthos smiled again, the brightest thing he had seen all day (save maybe for Manfred’s jewelled eyes, but he would tell neither—not yet, anyway) and replied, “I would love to.”

“I have heard that resting with good company can almost be as beneficial as a night’s sleep.”

Pénthos chuckled. “Did you, now?”

“I have, of course, my sources!” Emmrich pointed to a specific section of the many bookshelves lining the walls, somewhere on the second floor. Pénthos’ smile turned into a full laugh, and the lines of tension slipped away, even if just for a moment.