and make me rage

As an artist I put a character’s story, identity and personality in mind as I create and establish their final design. I truly believe that Blizz’s artists had tracer’s homosexuality in mind during the creation of her design and concept art. I can just feel the homosexual archetypes Radiating off of her. I mean would you look at her

That is a lesbian if I’ve ever seen one.

That is a face that says “I get more pussy than The Weeknd on vocal steroids”. this face says “I am the girl that’s got Drake’s exbae wearing less and going out more” says ”your girlfriend may not like pussy, but she will after she goes down on me tonight”.”Harold…..“”

Her hair, her piercings, her jacket, those god awful leggings, her fingers…

^ muscle memory in action, I guarantee you.

Originally posted by jillianhotsmann

Not to mention the ever iconic lesbian Salute.

I ain’t reaching here y’all, she is radiant , the lesbianism on this one.I put these little/ridiculous things in when I design characters for others.

Artists have fun with this specially when working with others, we’ll put in all the little jokes that we’ll laugh at for ages”wait why doesn’t she have a piercing?dude give her a piercing, what self respecting lesbian doesn’t have a piercing”. Artists at heart are ridiculous children. So you ain’t reaching when y’all look for the signs among all our overwatch ladies and or sons,get ridiculous and reach new enjoy it, you’re probably right, artists are ridiculous. 

Also considering how much love this got on my Twitter, I can’t believe that I forgot to post it over here! This is a bareknuckle boxermaid that I did as a commission a little while back, and I had an unbelievable amount of fun with it. 

The constant pressure to be pretty makes me angry… I can’t even imagine how much more pent up rage a mermaid probably has. 

haikyuu!! fic recs

♡ - recommended

♡♡ - highly recommended


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*can you tell i love iwaoi?


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Raise Your Hand If:

You think the only time we should be unwelcoming in the Magic: The Gathering community is to make misogynists, racists, harassers and assholes, feel unwelcome?

knitting a blanket & suddenly not sure how big blankets are supposed to be. 12 feet across? 15??

His wife costs tax payers millions by refusing to move into the White House. The Secret Service is looking into leasing space in Trump Tower…. Think about that. We have to pay for Trump’s security to buy space in Trump’s building because his wife refuses to move.

He costs the taxpayers millions with each trip to Mar-a-Lago, his resort, where people pay lots of money to stay where he stays and take pictures with Trump’s security detail who carries the nuclear codes. It also costs the city’s police department thousands in overtime pay.

All this profiting off the office might only make me pissed off, and not nauseous with rage, if he wasn’t such a damned hypocrite on top of it all.

Outside the relevant video footage there are a few particular photos of the FAHC that the media likes to use whenever they are discussing one of the crew’s attacks on the news; between citizen’s snapshots and professional photojournalists there’s certainly no shortage of available images but a select handful have become somewhat iconic.

There are favourites for each individual, at least of the main public-facing portion of the crew, even ideal shots of near every little combination of members, but it’s the big group photos that really bring in the money. The favoured images are all action shots including all the key members of the crew, rare and hard to capture but spectacular when managed, the candid photos looking more like promo stills for a Hollywood blockbuster than anything based in reality.

Tales of the crew’s latest acts of bloody ruthlessness are often accompanied by a snap taken by a long-focus lens through a chain-link fence of the Fake’s waiting for pickup outside a warehouse. Pattillo’s on the phone, Ramsey has his head in one hand as he gestures towards where Jones is tipping off balance with Dooley in a headlock, who in turn has one hand fisted in the Vagabond’s jacket as Free looks on, apparently cleaning his nails with a knife. The group ranges from a light smattering to utterly drenched but not one has entirely escaped the spray of blood, and every single one of them is laughing.  When instead the topic of discussion is the FAHC’s opulent irreverence the image of choice is one showing the key six in various stages of undress, swimmers and cocktails all around as they lounge about the spa and deck of the mayor’s yacht.

Then there’s the photo that never fails to come up whenever the media is focussing on the FAHC’s ability to do the unbelievable, taken during one of the Fake’s more ludicrous heists. An overbearing titan dwarfs the scene right outside Maze Bank, cartoonishly large magnet swinging heavily below it at the aircraft absconds with an entire safe.  Two figures are standing atop the safe as it is lifted, one in a suit and the other in a skull mask, both clinging to the chain as they lean out to shoot towards those still on the ground. Below a hotly pursued chrome car is fishtailing around the corner even as two bikes are caught mid-flight, launching through the air over a police barricade, the drivers – one decked out in all gold and the other a mess of purple and orange – reaching out to bump gloved fists.

A grainy mobile camera shot that is largely ignored by mainstream media nonetheless makes the rounds on the internet, quickly going viral as people express their fascination with the image of Los Santos’ most infamous villains after a night at the bar. Walking down a quiet street Ramsey and Pattillo are out in front, the boss laughing and gesticulating wildly while the second shoves him away, grin mostly hidden as she looks back at the others following behind. Free’s arm is hooked around Jones’ neck, a careless piggyback that matches the sloppy edge of their grins, his other arm thrust forward like he’s directing a charge despite the way the Vagabond is clearly towing them both with one hand. The other hand is busy keeping Dooley from slumping to the ground, limp body slung over the Vagabonds shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and even masked its clear the mercenary is looking skyward in exasperation. It’s an oddly humanising image, the familiarity of drunken camaraderie regardless of the nature of the people involved, and, feeling safe and brazen behind the anonymity of the internet, the picture is quickly utilised in a dozen different ridiculous memes.

Despite all that, the most commonly used image of the crew by far, and easily the most obnoxiously arrogant of the lot, comes from the memorable day the FAHC decided to make a show of finally wiping out their key rivals, an example to the city and a huge payday all rolled into one extravagant affair. While there are still plenty missing the imagine contains nearly every identifiable member of the FAHC, including a sizable chunk of support, all dressed in matching suits - visibly expensive, personally tailored and entirely unnecessary, each with their own little flairs of green; a tie, a handkerchief, a necklace, a vest. The crew is walking in a V-formation, with Ramsey front and centre and the rest flared back around him, loose limbed and laughing like they’re not all armed to the teeth. Like there isn’t a burnt out plane behind them or a building pouring smoke and flame. Like this photo didn’t catch them moments after securing the most horrifically high body-count the crew has to their name. It’s used because of how many members are visible, because of how clearly it displays the callous cruelty of the crew, the violent destruction at the heart of their existence. The Fake’s just love how insufferably grandiose it is, from the accidental formation of their walk to the silly last second decision to suit up and wreck shop like caricature gangsters, all picked apart and interpreted as intention, calculated self-importance and immaculate organisation.

There is however, a single photo in circulation that the Fake’s draw no pleasure from no matter how many times its shown. It’s the kind of image prime time news always precedes with a warning; disturbing, graphic, might offend some viewers, proceed at your own risk. It was taken by a particularly reckless journalist in the middle of a shootout that stayed in the headlines for weeks, the stormy night that almost spelled the end of the FAHC and cost many officers their lives in the process. The image embodies every inch of that grim reality, almost washed out by the red and blue lights reflecting back off every surface from pale faces to the wet shine of the road, and the whole photo couldn’t have been framed better if it had been staged.

There are lumps scattered across the scene; rubble, cartridges, crashed vehicles and indistinguishable bodies in blue and black Kevlar. In the foreground there is a shock of green hair against the pavement, Dooley’s prone form blocked almost entirely by Ramsey crouching over him, usual jacket abandoned to reveal a tattered shirt, stark and ghostly white against the harsh black metal of the machine gun braced against his shoulder.

Slightly further back, ducked low and braced against a wall Pattillo and the Vagabond press together, bodies inadvertently angled towards the photographer. The Vagabond is caught mid-reload, skull askew as his head twists back to look behind even as Pattillo keeps him pinned, gun slung across her back and her own shirt ripping between her teeth as she ties it around the masked man’s thigh.

Furthest away and almost perfectly centred Jones has his back to the camera, the distinctive snarl of the wolf stamped across his spine just visible as he stands square between his crew and the advancing line of officers, outline lit by the bright flare of his muzzle flash. Nearby a slighter figure echoes his position, taking aim from the hood of an abandoned police car, though one of Free’s arms hangs wet and useless to his side, face turned just far enough to reveal blood streaked skin and bared teeth.

Out of focus but distinct even in the background the LSPD advances, a solid mass interspaced by flashing lights and flaring weapons. The photo even captured a glimpse of the Firebird’s chopper arriving, the deciding factor that finally swung the fight back into the FAHC’s favour, just visible emerging around the hulking silhouette of a building. The photo is, in all objectivity, an artistic masterpiece. The Fake’s hate it.

Any media loop of a job gone bad is a pretty miserable time, and there is certainly enough footage of that night to go around, but something about that image is particularly grating. It’s hardly the worst photo of them out there, isn’t embarrassing or overly revealing, the few visible faces not even reflecting the desperate terror they’d all felt by the end, but it’s still too much. Too painful, too human, far too close, so each and every time it surfaces again it never fails to tip somebody into a bad mood.

The annoyance is aimed at the media really, not the individual who’d snapped the shot; no matter how many claimed the man should have his identity protected for safety the Fake’s simply weren’t interested. Which isn’t to say they didn’t notice when that damned image won a prestigious award, oh no. For all their collective indifference there’s just no way the photographer was ever going to keep that prize long, his apartment broken into within a week without any obvious signs of forced entry, the culprits only identifiable by the message they left behind in their wake, bright green paint splashed across the wall where the shiny new plaque had hung in pride of place; Get our good side next time, xoxo FAHC


When you accidentally wind up in the immediate vicinity of an Ovechkin-Backstrom eyefucking session.


MAKE ME CHOOSE | asked by anonymous

regina’s relationship with emma or regina’s relationship with emma’s car?

I hope Kesha is the harbinger of an apocalypse where everyone suddenly explodes in a burst of glitter and smoke, grows rainbow butterfly wings, unlocks their whistle register and ascends to a higher plane of existence 

BS Medical Tropes that Need to Die, 2/? : Making People Unconscious

For Part 1 of the BS Medical Tropes series, click here!

So I got an ask the other night about a character choosing not to kill people, but knocks them out with blows to the head instead. And it’s not an unreasonable thing for writers to think is legitimate. In fact, in fiction, there are dozens of ways to produce unconsciousness! A sharp hit to the head; a sedative drug injected right into the neck, bro!, or even Darkly Dreaming Dexter with his special horse paralytic.

Hell, on Person of Interest the main characters routinely produce unconscious enemy combatants by shooting them in the @$#RY)G!@#% knees

Here’s the thing: Every single one of those is complete bullshit.

Poppycock. Nincompoopery. Asscrap. And you’d realize that it’s a crock of crap if you thought about it this way for even half a minute:

Keep reading