#*shakes things by the shoulders*

[fun-esta]

[shootingstareon]

guess my favourite p5 character challenge

[floofery]

Thinking about Aubrey and Kel... arguing not because they hate each other but because how close they are... besties . sorry

[arthursfuckinghat]

Sometimes, I'll be doing a mission with Dutch and everything is fine.

Other times, the light will catch his face in a way that makes me seethe.

I get reminded that Dutch got to age, he got to grow grey.

Did Arthur get that chance? Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Molly? Did any of them get to grow old together?

Why didn't they, Dutch? Why didn't the gang survive? Why didn't they get the promised virgin lands in the west? Why did you outlive them?

Go on, Dutch, go ahead. I'm listening.

[triptychofvoids]

art trade for @littleguyconnor !! spy come get your spy

[theminecraftbee]

god i really feel like the mcrp fandom and the wrestling fandom are cousins. we should hold hands. we both have to deal with people not quite understanding the idea of keyfabe ("don't you know wrestling is FAKE?"/"they're using their real names so clearly it's all the real youtubers"), with ao3 tagging nightmares (did you know the wrestling fandom still has the rpf tag problem the mcrp fandom had for years because apparently ao3 doesn't understand keyfabe either?), with people who don't understand keyfabe but from the other side (yes it's not real but i should still harass the player/wrestler about it right?), with complicated plots with goofy characters, with outsiders being dead convinced that the people inside are writing rpf, even if we explain it's not real... i'm just saying. we're cousins. buddies. we should hold hands. we should understand each other. that's all i'm saying,

[sorrelpaws]

GOTTA KEEP THOSE RECEIPTS, DAWG

[hinamie]

- wip -

talk shit get hit itfs panel redraw fr the soul

[jessaerys]

"But I finished [Near and Mello] together as a set, and although they aren’t particularly laid out as such, I still feel a bit like they’re twins." —Obata Takeshi

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same:

i. low sky, mahmoud darwish. ii. the world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire, ritika jyala. iii. kadan, 2008. iv. the dreamers, gilbert adair. v. @nathanielorion vi. nagiko, 2016. vii. elektra, sophokles (tr. anne carson). viii. wishbone, richard siken. ix. inbred, ethel cain. x. the boy who, tirol. xi. monster portraits, del samatar and sofia samatar. xii. in the field, @nathanielorion xiii. death note, "use" ch77. xiv. gut symmetries, jeanette winterson. xv. mystic union; fire and wine: poems, john gould fletcher. xvi. @inukai_0055, twitter. xvii. the carnivorous lamb, agustín gómez-arcos. xviii. my sister, the serial killer, oyinkan braithwaite. xix. the beatrice letters, lemony snicket (text); a quiet visitor, holly warburton (art); @unpardonablesins (edit). xx. ada, vladimir nabokov. xxi. this is how you lose the time war, amal el-mohtar. xxii. the borgias, s3e10, showtime. xxiii. @antaarf xxiv. @vilicity xxv. @boymiffy

[potatobugz]

i love having complex headcanons and thoughts about jsab it is so funny because i can look at a character and say "this ones full of self loathing and also is a giant snake that lives under a volcano" and in game its the guy who shows up and tries kill you, refuses to elaborate, and dies, and they never show up again.

and then you look at the character and they look like this

[thosewildcharms]

i am chuckling thinking about stage 5 clinger rick grimes post-towl, plainly refusing to ever let michonne out of his sight. and michonne doing the same thing too, like they will be attached at the hip for the foreseeable future, and good for them!

so true, we support them in their codependent era!

[cc-tens]

Ok but here's something I think about.

So Echo's mind was forcefully hacked and the utilization of his mind resulted in countless vod deaths. But he is not to be blamed because he was forced to be used, a cog in the machine that turned whether he wanted it to or not.

I think about him being a narrative foil or some sort of parallel to Fox. And I know the argument is that the manipulations used on Echo were not consensual, but Fox followed orders and therefore acted upon his will; and yes I do agree he did do as he was told and his obedience resulted in Fives' death which leads down a rabbit hole of preventable trouble. But also in my mind whether it was through the use of the inhibitor chip, emotional/mental/physical/etc manipulations and abuse acted against the Corries, or it being Fox's indoctrination I still think he was a similar cog in the ever spinning war machine. Even if it wasn't the first two options and it was him acting on what he believed were justifiable orders, I still feel equally as bad for him. Because he was raised to be that way, programmed even to be that way. The Kaminoans and the war machine demanded an attack dog and he became it. Yes I get it, he could have chosen to act differently, but you're telling me the indoctrination and ever present enforcement of propaganda and dogmatic thinking isn't still abusive and corrupt? That in a world where troopers could be reconditioned for being disobedient and you were trained since you were the equivalent of a toddler that if you were told the world is laid out in black and white that you wouldn't believe it? Rex and Cody and Wolffe and Bly and Ponds all have generals who help enforce personhood and individuality in clones, they encourage the building of self identity and acknowledge individual uniqueness. You think the Corries get that? On a planet where it's all about politics and paperwork? If the GAR has to deal with indoctrination ideals - as shown by Dogma and his stringent obedience - then you don't think that shit is drip fed into Corrie blood streams?

I'm saying that while Fox killed vod, in what mind does he have to do contrary? Echo's mind was highjacked, and to me in a way the Corrie's were highjacked as well. Not the same, not with physical wires and screws and pods but through slow and methodical programs and placements. Echo's forced servitude can be seen physically on his person, but the same manipulations that had Fox pull the trigger on his gun which killed Fives is all internal. Even if it isn't a chip, even if it isn't out of fear, he never had a chance to go against when his entire life was built to serve and do this. The Chancelor says jump, Fox will always ask, how high?

[falderaletcetera]

the thing about post-rose ten is he IS casually cruel. he tells donna to her face that she's not clever, not special, not important - and gets slapped for it, which to my mind is kinda the reason the doctor-donna relationship works. he tells martha's coworker not to waste his time, to stay behind, she'll only hold them up. leaves her crying. and like, devoting his energy to the problem at hand (the hospital is on the moon, there's an alien situation going on, everyone here and possibly everyone on earth is at risk) is the practical move at the time. but there's an obvious casual cruelty to it that he wouldn't have stooped to before.

and I'm just reminded of the way donna forgot all her loudness and bluff and immediately snapped to empathy when there were people hurt. you're a doctor, you can help. I remember her watching in horror as the doctor presided over the execution of children and the destruction of a species - and telling him he can stop now. I remember her saying that yeah, her ex-fiance, the man who poisoned her and used her and secretly looked down on her all this time, he didn't deserve to die like he did, which is a pretty big admission given the freshness of that betrayal. she has a good heart. and I can see why she would be good for this new, cruel, forgotten-his-kindness-in-all-his-pain doctor.

and I'm just so, so sorry that martha had to know this version of him in the meantime.

[sealrock]

01. steer

cw: graphics depictions of injury and death word court: 744 words

The droning blare of the car horn seeped into the darkness of his waking mind. Slowly, the boy registered intense, blooming pain throughout his body. His left eye, or what remained of it, was nothing more than an orifice for free-flowing blood, the sticky warmth caking onto his mangled, cold face.

His tongue was heavy, the taste of copper staining his teeth. A shard of glass, most likely from the windshield, flew directly at him during impact, his jerking frame landing sideways for the shard to strike him on the left side of his face, embedding itself within his young flesh. The boy could only cry out in pain the more he wiggled about, unable to free himself from this prison of metal and burning ceruleum.

It was freezing outside, the silent snowfall of the night drifting into the gaps of what was once the humble and somewhat rickety family car, a "fine piece of homemade Garlean steel," his father once quipped, meaning it was all he could afford on his meager salary. Where was he going… He couldn't remember. His nose picked up a scent of growing decay, and the boy realized he wasn't alone. In the dimly lit interior, thanks to the soft glow of blue flames from the engine, he could see silhouettes of his mother and father—their bodies frozen in place. His father, once a tall and proud man who loved to carry him atop his shoulders, lay wrapped around the steering wheel, his torso halfway through the windshield. The boy smelt the tinge of burning hair. His mother's crumpled body was stuck on the dashboard, her unbound russet locks stiff like she was.

Try as he might, the boy couldn't manage a single word that wasn't choked with pain. The right side door was busted, the lock jammed and he had not the strength to force it open. With great effort, he wriggled out of his seatbelt, not taking a moment to realize he was crawling on top of the bloodied corpse of his younger brother, the weight of his hand pressing into his pale face decorated with cuts and bruises. He looked as if he was sleeping, his dark hair tousled and spattered with blood.

His ears were ringing. His ears were bleeding. He couldn't breathe. His neck hurt. He was partially blind. He had no feeling in his legs. How long did he stay there unconscious? Why was he the only one to survive?

Falling out of the car door, the snow-covered ditch met his bruised hands first as he braced himself. Images flashed through his head then: panicked screams from his parents, the screech of the car tires as they braced for impact, the sight of the large oak tree in front of the headlights, and the explosion of glass and the sickening crunch of metal before he blacked out came rushing back to him.

On this desolate stretch of road, cloaked in darkness and blanketed in white, the boy could only stand there in shock, gripping onto his torn overcoat gifted to him by his mother as a lifeline. He caught a glimpse of his father's lacerated face, a snapshot of terror in his final moments. Eyes wide and unblinking, his jaw locked open in a perpetual scream, arms splayed atop the hood of the car. The boy couldn't look away. He wanted to. But he couldn't. Something compelled him to continue staring at the last remnants of his family, knowing that he'd never see them whole and hale again. No boy his age, just ten winters old, should witness this.

His ears picked up sounds from the main road, shuffling footsteps crunching the gravel above and the slam of car doors. Torches shone down on the wreckage, blinding his one good eye as he tried to gain his bearings. Shielding his face, he could only see outlines of bodies covered with insulated coats, the light obscuring their faces. One made his way down the ditch with little effort, and the boy could see he was a soldier. What would the military be doing out here?

Without warning, the man grabbed his arm and began leading him back to the others. Unable to form words, panicked shouts and whines fell from his mouth. He walked into the light, but it had no warmth. It wasn't gentle, it was harsh and judging. He came to fear the light since then, for all he experienced was pain.

[amelia-yap]

happy new yearrr

[miniagula]

they make me ILL and SICK IN THE HEAD