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Too broke to not try my luck 🤣

This is the money butt.

It only appears every 124078932423 posts. Reblog in 12 minutes, and money will make its way to you in the next 48 hours.

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This is so fucking cool 😁 😎👍

By metomorphosia_fx on insta

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thinking about how the true horror of bloodborne isn’t the great ones and their power, nor the beasts that roam the streets, nor the bosses, malformed as they are, but humans themselves. humans in a quest for knowledge and greatness; humans losing sight of what it means to be human, to have compassion and tenderness for others as they prey on the weak and the sick and the friendless; humans who let their ambition blind them. they’re too busy looking ahead to what they want to be that they can’t see what they should be.

i think about the great ones, who are outright said to be sympathetic in spirit, to answer prayers, to yearn for surrogate children after they lose their own. i think about how all of them have answered the prayers of humans, and how the presence of a great one, no matter how kindly meant, leads to disaster in that human’s life. the formless oedon is unseen but everywhere; he is in his tomb, in his chapel; his runes are carved into the minds of multiple people; he “blesses” multiple women with a celestial child. oedon is a being that exists without physical form who repeatedly tries to take shape and connect through the human body, and that only leads to pain (or, in the case of runes, is totally unknown to the person).

i think about how mergo used its cries of terror to protect its mother when you fight queen yharnam in the chalice dungeon. i think about mergo’s wet nurse cradling the unseen child as she gracefully and carefully cuts you to ribbons, because the only way to protect something is to kill whatever tries to harm it. also, she’s a wet nurse–a caretaker, a nurturer. she looks after the infant great one in a way that mergo’s mother, a human, cannot.

i think about the moon presence and how tenderly she cradles the hunter in her hands before locking them in her embrace, and then binding them to the hunter’s dream. i think about how to her that’s probably the fairest of trades: the hunter is never sick, never hurt, never dies; the hunter never gets hungry or tired, never gets old. the hunter lives forever in her dream, and she gets to have her child, watching over them endlessly. i think about how it’s very likely she doesn’t understand how horrible this is, to live in a dream unending, because that’s where she is.

i think about how the kin of the cosmos–rom and ebrietas, and amygdala–are likewise not openly malicious. rom is an infant who throws tantrums to defend herself, and crawls away from you when you first attack her. ebrietas is collapsed at rom’s grave, mourning her, and only moves to defend herself when you hurt her fist. amygdala–all of them–are everywhere, watching and waiting, curious, seen only to those repeatedly exposed to the bizarre truths of yharnam. the only one who attacks you is the one in the nightmare–and that’s likely because you got too damn close to where she lives. the other amygdala simply grasp you in hand and transport you to the nightmare. they’re a means to an end. humans called, they answered–and now they’ll sit and wait.

i think about how this take on human nature–the dangers of ambition when it blinds people to traits like compassion and temperance–is likewise countered by the efforts of the hunter: helping eileen, setting gascoigne to rest; following the blind beggar’s request of saving as many people as they can; killing the imposter iosefka; following simon further into the nightmare, giving ludwig one last great battle before death, restoring laurence’s lost humanity to him; risking life and damnation to uncover the secrets of the church not just to find the truth, but to make that knowledge mean something. i think about how the hunter can ascend humanity to its next childhood by becoming a great one themselves, and how that turns all the horror and misery and cruelty of what the church and the choir and byrgenwerth tried to do into something that mattered. all those deaths weren’t for nothing, even if they can never be taken back.

also thinking about the doll’s blessing to you: “may you find your worth in the waking world.” thinkin about how that means the true value that the hunter should seek isn’t in unreality–the dream, the nightmare–but in reality, in life, in living it. i think about how she likely doesn’t know that there are hunters who no longer dream (djura, eileen), who are still bound to yharnam for their own reasons. their “worth in the waking world” are duties they feel bound to: djura protects old yharnam and the beasts there; eileen stalks yharnam looking to put blood-addled hunters to rest. their “worth” is in carving out some small measure of peace in reality because they no longer have the hunter’s dream to hide in.

thinking about how she kneels at the graves in the dream and prays for you–prays for you to be safe and freed from the dream. thinking about how she kneels at your ng+ grave and says that it’s a hunter she once knew, as if she recognizes that you are coming back on another journey to yharnam, as if you can’t escape it–yet she prays for you anyway.

thinking about how she picks up the hunter after they’ve transformed into a great one and laughs, likely because she’s amused that you went as far as you did only to end up small and helpless, like a child in her arms.

thinking about how she was kind enough to pick you up and keep you warm, anyway–and how that small act of kindness will probably make all the difference.

and then i think about how fuckin dopeass cool the clothes and music are

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Adorable murder weapon

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Is this what they wanted?

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Everyone that reblogs this post by July 5th 2019 will get two moodboards based on their blog’s theme

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drained of blood, the heart is white

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Random HCs of the Bros, Ravus, Luna, Cor, Nyx, Ardyn, & Aranea

Noctis

Super messy.

Like, never picks up after himself.

Doesn’t have to at the palace.

So he loses things all the time.

That game you want to borrow? No idea. It’s somewhere in this room.

He starts to just magic everything away so he can find it.

That’s why he magics the fishing pole away.

Gladio: “You know you could just put that in the trunk of the car, right?”

Noct: “Eh, this is easier.”

He’s just so used to it now.

That bag of chips he bought for later? Magiced.

His extra clothing? Magiced.

The book Gladio lent him? Magiced.

He doesn’t magic his phone away, anymore, because magic and electronics don’t mix. He’s broken like 6 phones doing that on accident.

Keep reading

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bluecloverrabbitry on ig

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A guy in one of my classes has the appearance of an American civil war soldier who traveled in time and is attempting to adapt to life in the 21st century. I’m talking everything about him. His vaguely formal, entirely earth tone wardrobe. Not formal enough to appear weird but just formal enough to stick out amongst a sea of classmates wearing jeans and sweaters. A real southern folk singer with socialist political leanings kinda aesthetic. His face looks like one you would see in a daguerreotype from the war. You walk into a civil war museum and you will see a photo of this man labeled “unknown soldier, 1863.” His demeanor screams person who isn’t entirely used to his place in the new society he has found himself in. Quiet. Observant. Uncomfortable. Anyways today in class he spent the whole 3 hours wearing a pair of black knockoff raybans with plastic roses attached to one edge and the POWER of that decision absolutely blew me out of the water

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it’s just one of those croissant days

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Pete, Please stop this madness! They’re our customers for gods sake! They Pre-Ordered! You’re breaking the sacred writ of purchase!

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Kitchen counter cat says wassup

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do people actually preheat their ovens

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(warning: loud)