#confident at his job

[definitionofacritter]

Our table for Downfall (and their presumed identities):

Ashley as Trist: Sarenrae the Everlight (mercy), paladin/cleric

Nick as Ayden: Pelor the Dawnfather (dawn), barbarian/cleric/druid/paladin

Laura as Emhira: the Raven Queen (death), warlock

Taliesin as Asha: Melora the Wildmother (nature), monk

Abubakar as S.I.L.A.H.A.: Corellon the Arch Heart (beauty), sorcerer/warlock

Noshir as The Emissary: servant of Erathis the Lawbearer (law), barbarian

[intotheelliwoods]

Happy to have 2 Arms Left in the comp another year! While this isnt Sprouts first rodeo, its Poptarts first! Everyone give him a welcome :)

@tmntaucompetition

Bonus, featuring Poptarts bestie, because no one can convince me otherwise that Poptart will get overwhelmed with the amount of people- @dianagj-art

[codgod]

i feel like i see ppl mischaracterise mariana a lot too but then i also don’t feel like i know his character well enough to articulate in what way lol

like i read. a lot of slimeriana fics. and in some of them his behaviour just feels ? off ? from what i expect it to be but idk how LOL

[aardvaark]

i was thinking about how i wished leverage had a birthday episode for some of the characters cause that would be sweet, but then i realised something and basically…. okay here’s my thoughts in quotes form, just for fun

hardison: so when’s your birthday? i could plan something for us and the team to do and-

parker: i dont know

hardison: you don’t know… your own birthday?

parker: no, how would i know? pshh, cmon, you’re telling me you remember EXACTLY when you were born? watch this - hey, eliot, do you know your exact birth date?

eliot, innocently passing by, who was canonically anonymously dropped off at a hospital as an infant: no, how would i know?

parker: that’s what i said!

hardison: excuse me?? what is going on right now

sophie, walking into the apartment: whats wrong?

hardison: parker and eliot- well, okay, when’s your birthday? i just have to prove something.

sophie: …….july 12th

hardison: why did you pause? wait, is that your birthday or sophie devereaux’s birthday?

sophie: ………… (guilty silence)

parker: see, no one knows their real birthday! haha you’re so weird sometimes, hardison

hardison:

hardison: what the fuck guys

[spongek-squidge]

Does anyone else come across someone portraying Harvey as confident and just be like… that’s not my doctor?

He is a ball of crippling anxiety in everything but the workplace (and even then he’s still anxious) and I think people who believe he’s socially confident fundamentally misunderstand him as a character?

Would he say pick up lines? Yes, but they’re either corny as hell or heavily ambiguous and the corny ones only ever occur when you’re dating. An example of the ambiguous one would be his famous ‘come to me if you ever need a confidential check-up’. Like, you know he’s saying that with sweat running down his face as red as a tomato and he immediately turns around and leaves upon saying it

No offence to the writers out there write however you want, but he is fundamentally an anxious man.

[pepperpixel]

Some inside job art! Mostly just trying to figure out how to draw these two

[kinokoshoujoart]

the coolest kids in forgotten valley!!☆

(…it seems there may have been a stretch of time where rock and lumina were the only kids in forgotten valley…🥲)

poseref

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

Cyberverse Lockdown

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

no but fucking really. "i'd love to get your thoughts. let me know if there's anything you disagree with--i won't take it out, but i'm more than happy to tell you where you're wrong ;)" versus "yeah. mm, yeah. yes; sorry, sorry. um. yeah. ......i just want you to like it. ...i'll leave you be." makes me. fucking. OUGH

trent, confident and playful, telling them he's happy to correct them if they disagree with anything he's written versus him anxiously awaiting ted's approval and actively seeking it out, nervous, eager in a sort of rattled anxious way. the confidence versus the hesitancy, the independence versus the want for ted to like it, like him.

and then ted giving him a word of praise and a word of criticism in one--that it's a good book but it shouldn't be called 'the lasso way'--and trent takes it. i honestly think he does disagree, but instead of "telling ted where he's wrong"--maybe just out of respect for what he wants, trust for his opinion--he changes the title. what he said he wouldn't do. for ted. what if i wailed and screamed

[mariocki]

La tarantola dal ventre nero (Black Belly of the Tarantula, 1971)

"Yes, I've always told you to drop it, it's true. But now... you're not giving up. Not now. And I don't really care about the movie. If they're out to get you, it means the murderer is afraid of you. It means you know what you're doing. He's afraid of you."

[askthebadkidz]

I hate Kipperlily I hope they stomp on her head *sees some of you in the tag* I hate Kipperlily I hope she gets the happiest ending.

-Mod Riz

[ilovefredjones]

i’m always thinking about how dal never knew his parents and the only mother figure he had sold him into slavery as a child and then it turns out he never even had parents, he was just a failed experiment. and then his next mother figure is simply a hologram of a famous admiral who then deceives him before ‘dying’. but the real janeway cares for him so much, and defends and advocates for him in court and wants him to join her crew

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

the most insane thing about that whole imane khelif situation, for me, a biochemist, was having to see people online unironically saying "genes are immutable" and honest to god making this face at the screen every single time

[vampv0id]

I am YET AGAIN thinking about how they put Hannibal/Mads Mikkelsen in Inside Job.

[jv-f1]

More jv.jpg (ft. Alex & Richard!) 📸

— via Williams App

[elliemarchetti]

Gwynriel Weeks Day 5

I know today's prompt for @gwynrielweeksofficial was domestic life, and I kind of respected that, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to write this sort of fake dating AU

Prompt: Domestic Life

Words: 1064

Azriel opened his eyes slowly, annoyed by the pale sunlight coming through the decorative curtains. He had overslept, a unique occurrence, but the worst part was that he wasn't recognizing his surroundings. The room was too small, the bed definitely not his, and the light wooden door located in the wrong place, too close to the window, beyond which voices speaking an unknown language chattered softly. Instinct told him to sit up, to make sure there was no danger, and to chase away whoever was daring to peek into his privacy, but a familiar weight on his chest and left arm glued him to the mattress, its warmth comforting for both his body and his spirit.

“Good morning,” a female voice, still drenched in sleep, murmured, and Azriel remembered everything. The mission that could have resulted in a disaster, the cover story Gwyn had invented on the spot, the kind family that had found them on the borders, his injuries, and the priestess desperate plead for help. He heard her say they were a couple of diplomats returning from Vallahan, who had been tasked with managing delicate commercial relations but had been followed by criminals who had almost killed them.

"All for a stupid necklace," she had said, probably showing the pendant whose original recipient was in Prythian, in the arms of her red-haired mate. The lesser Fae believed her, and accompanied them to their village, where Azriel could wait for his right wing to recover.

“You were lucky,” their healer, a tall, lanky creature with long straw-blond hair, had told him. “If they had hit you closer to the shoulder I wouldn’t have known how to save your ability to fly.”

Azriel had shuddered at the thought, and Gwyn had immediately approached him, placing a delicate hand on his muscular arm. She had reassured him, and caressed his face, just like a worried lover. When she had left him alone to rest, she had returned with their hosts to the living room, which also served as the kitchen, and had helped them prepare dinner. They had given her a simple dress, a little worn but still her size, and an apron to avoid getting dirty, into the large pocket of which she had immediately begun to stuff fresh herbs from the small garden in the back. She had put her hair up in a soft braid, and had laughed and joked with the little ones at home, who had the same teal eyes as her and the dark skin of the Summer Court’s inhabitants.

“I would like to have wings like your boyfriend,” the youngest had told her. “So I could beat the other kids in running races.”

She hadn’t denied that their bond was romantic, she hadn’t shown the slightest sign of discomfort at the idea, and even though Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her, he kept spying on her from the crack of the door she had left open, and had listened to her tell to the youngling that even though she didn’t have wings, she was still the fastest among her friends.

Three nights had passed since that day, and although he was starting to get better and no longer felt strong pangs of pain when he tried to stretch his shoulders, he knew he couldn’t resume the mission. Gwyn had helped him with this too, to understand where to start again, how to contain the damage, but above all she had taken care of him like no one had ever done before. She helped him bathe, and get dressed, and she even fed him the first time he got up to eat, making him blush like a lovesick puppy. During the night she had asked him if she hadn’t gone too far, her voice little louder than a breath of wind, but he had reassured her by holding her close and giving her a long kiss on the forehead. The truth was that he liked that farce, he enjoyed the illusion of being able to have a normal life with her, a peaceful existence, where there were no wars, secret missions, enemies to face openly and allies whose loyalty had to be controlled with bargains and blackmail. If someone had told him he would have this kind of thoughts a few days earlier, he would’ve laughed in the face of anyone who dared picture him so weak, but now that he had experienced what it was like to have a normal life with the priestess, he couldn’t help but wish for a little house just for them in the middle of nothing, a place that hadn’t been given to him by Rhysand and that didn’t remind him of the past, maybe a cottage he'd built with his own hands, though he wasn’t sure they knew how to make something so pure. For her, he could’ve learned. With her, perhaps he could forget the horrors of his childhood, and ennoble those bastard origins without being someone’s torturer. He was grateful to Rhysand for everything he had done for him, for saving his life and offering him food and shelter and protection, but working for him inevitably took away the daily life he longed to share with a partner. He could already imagine her walking around the house barefoot, relaxed, the smell of stew in the air and a child or two jumping around asking when dinner would be ready. For centuries, Azriel had been adamant on the issue of offspring: he had a terrible father, and he wasn’t going to be the same for an innocent creature. But with Gwyn…

“Everything okay? Are you feeling sick?” she asked, propping up on one elbow to get a better view of his face, and Azriel wondered what kept him from digging his hand into the flaming cascade of hair that had escaped from the silk tie, forming a puddle of harmless fire on his naked chest, to kiss her senseless. Decency and fairness would’ve been the right answer, but it was fear and guilt, so he just shook his head and told her he was simply hungry.

“I’ll go get you something for breakfast,” she murmured, and as if nothing had happened, as if sleeping together and being so close had been the most natural thing in the world, she got up, heading towards a kitchen that wasn’t theirs but could’ve been.