#die harder

[nine-frames]

Die Hard 2: Die Harder, 1990.

Dir. Renny Harlin | Writ. Steven E. de Souza & Doug Richardson | DOP Oliver Wood

[steampunkforever]

It is Christmas time once more, and what better way to ring in the season than with Die Hard 2: Die Harder. Annoying people online will insist that the first one isn't a Christmas film, but I guess the presence of snow in the sequel was enough to satisfy even those buzzkills.

Die Hard 2 (referred to from here on as "Die Harder") is a movie I've often seen listed among films that manage to be as good as the movies that came before them. It's always Aliens, Terminator Judgement Day, and Die Harder. The thing is, I disagree.

Die Harder is a perfectly good film. I really enjoyed it, and the writing and plot were well done. This isn't a bad movie by any means. However! Compared to the original Die Hard, Die Harder just isn't as good. Some of the magic is lost. And that's all right. Putting McLane in new situations that aren't "trapped in a building with terrorists" (though he certainly DOES get to do that in this one too) is what we needed from this movie, and it did a good job of avoiding the sophomore slump and putting out a solid film.

My verdict lies somewhere between "Not as good as Terminator 2" and "Better than Rambo 2" when measuring the quality of action sequels. Worth the watch this Christmas season.

[2ndaryprotocol]

‘Die Hard 2: Die Harder’

Artist: John Cordero 🖤

[akkpipitphattana]

deb writing an email disowning jennette and calling her a whore and telling her how disappointed she is and still having the gaul to ask for money for a fridge at the end???

[katsinspats]

Who will pray for me? // Who will pray for you?

Colour studies from Nerdy Prudes Must Die!! I was experimenting a lot with these, so I'm really happy with how these turned out :^)

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[noxcheshire]

So I saw a few posts describing how the Pit’s in Jason’s body kinda acted on its own accord when spotting Danny “baby ghost” Phantom/Fenton and how they then co-parent with a half dead “baby” teenager.

But I raise YOU the idea that the Pits is already parenting Jason Todd.

When the Pits take over it’s the simple response of a Mama Bear going feral on some humans for making their little baby upset.

Jason disappointed by Batman?

The Pits snarl and rage at the man that made baby sad!

Jason disgusted at the idea of another Robin lined up for death?

The Pits howl and claw through the skin to fix the situation by beating the humans up so they can’t die!

Jason vulnerable and lost by the lack of acceptance in his return as Red Hood?

The Pits screech, biting furiously into the humans that had caused the baby to feel un-included in their games!

No one understands the reason for the Lazarus Pit’s in Jason’s body to constantly be acting up, that is until Danny comes into the picture and is like, “So your ghost parent is always watching you too, huh?” In reference to his own ghost parent (Clockwork) that likes to watch through his little tv’s on what Danny gets up to and sends a multitude of sticky notes like a distant helicopter mom.

[taffywabbit]

pseudoregalia is a really good game for lots of reasons but the most important one is that, similar to many of my other all-time favourite games, it is full of various funny lil guys.

video games with endearing and memorable enemy designs mean the world to me. i would die for that thingy with the tuba

[npdbenrey]

stupid brain

anyway everyone welcome the system asshole

[criticalamityz]

i'm sorry, i can't tell you

[freshbaked-bread]

happy 15th death day ianto jonesssssss <3

[catsharky]

An interim comic! Rewinding to the first time my Shep met Garrus while I work on the next part. I'm halfway done the planning stage, but I needed to take a break and do something 'simpler' for a bit (this doesn't have BGs so it counts in my mind ok).

For anyone who doesn't know it, the song in Shepard's head

Also as a heads up, while I generally try to keep Shepard's appearance vague in any comic where I can get away with it, I'll be tagging any comics where she's definitively my Shepard with #SharkyShepard.

Part 1 • Previous Part • Next Part

[wulfhalls]

wait the parallels, rhaenyra appearing before daemon as a child while he sat the iron throne when they could easily banter with each other in high valyrian vs the haunting of her at that age with her grown up clothes as he approaches her while she sits the iron throne and taunts him in high valyrian

ep 1.01 // ep 2.04

[timetravellingkitty]

SAPPHIC ARTISTS TO LISTEN TO

(instead of writing your 69th essay about how Taylor Swift is a closet lesbian)

Starting off with my holy trinity:

Rina Sawayama (she/her, bi/pan): if you follow me you're probably aware of what a huge Rina fan I am. Lots of pop and rock, with a chunk of her earlier songs being R&B. Her debut album SAWAYAMA (my favourite album of all time!!) was her major breakthrough moment as it received critical acclaim and her sophomore album Hold the Girl made her the highest charting Japanese artist in the history of the UK. Known for her musical versatility, she made her acting debut in John Wick 4. I recommend: Cherry, Frankenstein and Bad Friend

Janelle Monáe (she/they, bi/pan): pop, funk, neo-soul and psychedelic. They have an entire series of concept albums about an android named Cindy Mayweather (her ALTER EGO?!) as she commits the crime of falling in love with a human. Lots of social commentary. Her album Dirty Computer comes along with a narrative film and a book taking place in its world. She's starred in movies like Antebellum, Glass Onion and Moonlight. I recommend: Electric Lady, Django Jane and Pynk

Raveena Aurora (she/her, bi): Experimental pop, R&B and soul. Her second album Asha's Awakening is a concept album following the journey of Asha, a Punjabi space princess, as it explores Aurora's South Asian identity and past relationships. Such a beautiful and soft voice to die for. I recommend: Headaches, If Only and Kathy Left 4 Kathmandu

Moving onto some other artists I like:

Boygenius: a band comprising of three sapphic women- Phoebe Bridgers (indie darling™), Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker (the first two are bi while the third is a lesbian). Indie, folk and alternative rock. Very melancholic. I urge you to check out their individual projects too (especially Phoebe's, I love her Punisher album). I recommend: Emily I'm Sorry, Satanist and True Blue

Kelela (she/her, queer): R&G, electronic and alternative R&B. Her debut EP Hallucinogen covers the beginning, middle and end of a relationship in reverse chronological order. Her second album Raven showcases Black futuristic art, which I fuck with. I recommend: Contact, The High and Bluff

Zolita (she/her, lesbian): dark-pop, R&B and electropop. She incorporates witchcraft into her music and mvs. She literally has an EP called Sappho what more could you want? I recommend: Holy, Ashley (the sapphic Speak Now) and Bedspell

Victoria Monét (she/her, bi): pop and R&B. She's written songs for artists like Ariana Grande (7 Rings) and Chloe x Halle (Do It). Go stream her Jaguar EP you will thank me later. I recommend: Touch Me (erotic sapphic song), Cupid and Love U Better

And finally some honourable mentions (can't make this post too long now can I): mxmtoon, Michelle Zauner, Arooj Aftab, Sir Babygirl, Dodie, Chloe Moriondo, Lauren Jauregui, Baby Queen, Sara and Teagan, The Butchies, Sofya Wang and Melissa Etheridge

[kkoct-ik]

some vaguely on model doodles as i try to work out what is wrong with them (what they look like)

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.