#But it is heavily on the brain...

[eudikot]

Painted with my little brother last night. He did the background then I painted over it

[kaitcake1289]

a spark in the dark

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Ashe posted a storyboard and everyone I know was going feral. I blacked out and came to with this so i guess i'm going feral too

[sneez]

pathologic but it's a lost 1920s german expressionist film [id under cut]

[id:

image 1: a digital drawing of a fake poster, using bright colours and rough, painterly brushstrokes. the title, 'pest' (german for 'plague'), is written at the top in spiky black text. in the foreground a man dressed as a tragedian is staring intently at the viewer, his hands raised and splayed as if in horror. in the background, the town is framed against a red sky, with the polyhedron in yellow behind.

images 2 and 3: fake casting sheets for the film, with the names of the actors and the characters they are playing above a black-and-white portrait photograph of them. all the text is in german. in english it reads: 'Pest', a film by Robert Wiene Alfred Abel as Victor Kain Ernst Busch as Grief Lil Dagover as Katerina Saburova Ernst Deutsch as the Bachelor Carl de Vogt as Vlad the Younger Marlene Dietrich as the Inquisitor Willy Fritsch as Mark Immortell Alexander Granach as Andrey and Peter Stamatin Bernhard Goetzke as General Block Dolly Haas as the Changeling Ludwig Hartau as the Haruspex Brigitte Helm as Anna Angel Brigitte Horney as Maria Kaina Emil Jannings as Big Vlad Gerda Maurus as Yulia Lyuricheva Lothar Menhert as Georgiy Kain Asta Nielsen as Lara Ravel Ossi Oswalda as Eva Yan Fritz Rasp as Stanislas Rubin Conrad Veidt as Alexander Saburov and Tragedian Paul Wegener as Oyun Gertrud Welcker as Aspity

image 4: four digital sketches of set designs for various locations. all are strongly influenced by expressionist imagery, using extreme angles, warped perspective, and dramatic shapes. they are labelled 'street 1' (a street lined with houses), 'street 2' (a square with a lamppost and a set of steps), 'polyhedron exterior' (the polyhedron walkway), and 'cathedral interior' (the dais at the far end of the cathedral).

image 5: four digital drawings in a black-and-white watercolour style, showing fake stills from the film. all are similarly distorted and lit by dramatic lighting. the first shows katerina's bedroom, with katerina standing in the centre of the floor. the second shows the interior of an infected house. the third shows daniil staring out of the frame in horror, one hand on his head and the other raised as if to ward something off. the fourth shows an intertitle with jagged white text reading 'the first day' against a dark background.

end id.]

[aq2003]

has anyone gotten the idea that odysseus' storyline in hades 2 is a depiction/exploration of trauma over his SA and how he's blaming himself for things that were out of his control? because that's the impression i'm getting from what i've seen. he talks about "goddesses" as his "greatest weakness" and that "he's not one to say no to them"...

when mel invites him to the bath, he brings up mortals having different standards for intimacy than gods and how it usually has a more romantic/sexual connotation. she then asks if he's uncomfortable and he has a startled reaction and brings up circe and calypso again (but never actually by name)

(this isn't ship/romance bait btw. odysseus knew mel as a kid and they're stated in-game to have a sibling/uncle-niece relationship)

also he grew apart from penelope after his return, but the game makes a point of showing that his love for penelope and telemachus is what drove him on at all so that element of his character isn't brought into question

[zkyeline]

CAN’T WIPE THIS ONE OFF HARRY-BOY

[ID (added by @/strawberrygiorno): A digital drawing of Harry Du Bois from Disco Elysium. He is looking at himself in a cracked mirror, leaning in close with a hand braced against it. The viewer looks at the scene over his shoulder. Harry is studying The Expression on his face with wide eyes. His free hand grips his chin, framing his grin. He is sweaty and shirtless, and the hand that's against the mirror smears blood on the glass from his fingertips. End ID]

[avocadoraisin]

me yesterday: I need to draw more bloody hoffstrahm

me today:

[bruciemilf]

Comic book writers who still make Bruce hit his kids even after years of mass criticism from fans who TELL you it's a bad creative choice that pushes them away from the fan base and comics in general,,, you did this for what?

[buggachat]

do you ever just remember that the most “masculine”/boy-centric episode of ML was about all the boys in paris getting together and kissing each other and throwing rainbow confetti in the air and dancing to the Village People 

[chiricat]

rough drafts/ideas for if akty could fuse. love my little fusion guy

[biracy]

Once u learn to be critical of rhetoric that relies on associating [supposed bad thing] with some form of psychological and/or neurological "damage", u really notice just how prevalent it is on here. Everyone you don't like is delusional, they're insane, they have brain damage, they need to Check The Carbon Monoxide Detectors, they need to Get Help and Go To Therapy, [form of media and/or communication] is literally brain poison, they've had their attention spans destroyed, they're "small brain" or "smooth brain" or "brain dead" or whatever. So many people on here remain seemingly incapable of criticizing someone's actions or views without needing to insinuate that the "problem" is neurological, "in the brain", unchangeable, fundamental. I should not have to explain why it is insensitive, nonconstructive, and oftentimes straight-up ableist to tell someone that they must have "brain damage" because you got into an argument with them online.

[pettyprocrastination]

Silent Treatment

Word count: 941

Warnings: angst, lack of communication within a relationship, that's about it? Anyways silent treatment is bad communicate with those you love this is purely for fiction purposes don't do this in real relationships.

An: wrote this on my freewrite for a word sprint whole heavily sick on the couch (still am🤧) so if there are any major spelling or formatting errors blame my Samsung and the tumblr app.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

If there's one thing Simon Riley can't stand it's the silent treatment.

He's used to anger. Knows it well and knows his own. Something nasty and rotten that boils inside of him, festering until he can extract it from his veins through the catharsis of violence under the command of his captain or splitting his knuckles open in an empty gym late in the night.

A man who spent his childhood fed insults and violence at the hand of his father has no qualms with a belly full of rage.

But oh, your silence all but starves him.

It isn't passive aggressive avoidance. There's no tight lipped smile as you insist everything is fine when the truth is standing before you both, because that'd give him plausible deniability. There'd still be that surface level communication no matter how empty it rang.

You offer him something so much worse.

Absolutely nothing.

At first, he's content to roll his eyes and let you stew. You want to act like a petulant little child? Fine by him. You can't beat Ghost at a game of solitude, he'll win every fucking time, sweetheart.

But then you slip by him in the hall, turning your shoulder to avoid his own brawny frame when before you would reach your hand out by just a millimeter so your fingertips would graze his own if only for a second.

By Christ, you might as well have backhanded him.

It makes him feel something ugly knotted deep in his chest. His body begins to itch down to the very bone when days past and you've yet to speak or for fuck's sake acknowledge him in anyway.

It's stupid and immature and childish.

YOU are stupid and immature and childish.

He's content to simply sit in his own silence and be done with it. He's left men and women for less than a passive aggressive attempt at an apology.

But while you slide into your stoic silence like a hot bath after an exhausting day, Simon singes his skin down to the bone on his. 

Perhaps it's ironic. That a man called "Ghost" is so uncomfortable with his own silence being gifted back to him that he turns to mild annoyances to gain a reaction from you.

Knocking your shoulder as you pass by one another, looming over you to grab something off of a shelf, entirely invading your personal space when it's unnecessary to press his body to yours in some hope of a twitch, a sigh, anything for you to show him that you're still in there aside from a closed mouth and empty eyes.

He'll find himself scratching at his scalp until the skin is raw and his fingers are tinted red.

Scream at him. Insult him. Hit him. Use him. All that is familiar territory.

Anything but silence.

When you return back to your apartment and find the entire place overwhelmed with the stench of cigarettes, he hopes it's the catalyst. That was your cardinal rule afterall, no smoking inside. One he could only get away with after he's fucked you to exhaustion and you're too comfortable to lift your head from his chest to scold him for indulging his self-destrictive habits in your own bed.

The pack is three quarters finished by the time you get home, the cigarette between his fingers is all but crushed flat as he watches you slip off your shoes and take soft steps towards him until you stand between his knees.

A myriad of comments sit behind his teeth, ready to be spit in your face. Wanting to ask if youre done with your childish charade and gotten it all out of your system, or maybe you've finally cracked because youre so lonely you can't help but come to him for a proper fuck because nobody will make you feel like he does.

But he says none of it. Simon Riley simply waits, and stares at you with tired eyes like a discarded shelter dog.

"I'm tired, Simon."

Your voice, my God had he missed it so much, sounds almost raw to his ears. A rasp to it that makes him wonder if you'd been crying.

Beneath the guilt, a sick part of him, just big enough to whisper above his conscience, feels a satisfaction in knowing he matters enough for you to shed tears in his name.

"I know."

"I don't like this. I don't like feeling like-" your words die in your throat as your face begins to scrunch up, forcing the whine in the back of your mouth to halt so you can uphold the facade of strength and resilience you told yourself you would on the car ride over here.

But then you look down and see the tired eyes of the man you don't know what to call to you and feel yourself wanting nothing more than to crumble in his arms.

“I know.”

A scarred hand gently grasps your thigh, slowly guiding you closer until you fold into his lap. Your own hands rise to cup his face, savoring the way he leans into your touch.

"We can't keep doing this."

"I know."

Despite his lack of words, you hear him perfectly.

You know he'll say sorry. He knows you'll say it as well. He'll tell you he's going to try and you'll accept it.

He knows he'll fuck it up again. As do you.

But now, as you tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder and pretend to not feel him shake and tremble in your arms, he vows to himself to make sure he never drives you to silence again.

[munamania]

undefined

common shane dyke moment

[paintsandquests]

Totally platonic movie night uh huh

[burquillos]

New diluven conspiracy board dropped.

[giulzart]

But we just can’t keep away

When you know me like you do

It’s supernatural got me howling at the moon