i was trying to make something entirely different

idk but what really gets me about overwatch is that its entire marketing tries to convince us that it’s this huge band of heroes who have come together to maintain world peace and achieve Great Things

while in fact that’s what they used to be and what you have now is a family consisting of an ape, two lesbians and a supercomputer having illegal dinner parties in a derelict government facility

the three former leaders of the organization are all presumed dead and pass their time not really disputing that claim considering two of them are currently holed up in a fucking necropolis, and the other one is a constantly decomposing emotional fog

like you’re supposed to imagine this grand force for Good, but then jesse mccree is getting shitfaced in a dingy bar in dorado while sombra sends sneaky update pics of him to reaper, who is currently too busy creeping on a family just because the guy’s flat butt reminded him of his ex husband

hanzo ‘midlife crisis’ shimada shoots dragons out of his nipple but you couldn’t tell that looking at his art student undercut and piercings, and his not-dead (notice how that’s a suspiciously recurring theme in this game?) brother is probably currently at a cosplay convention losing a ‘best genji costume’ competition

like maybe one day they’ll all come together and find common ground and actually do something, but for now they’re just a bunch of weird people in different stages of washed up trying to make ends meet, and it might be the most relatable thing about the whole entire game

anonymous asked:

All that stuff about making Super AI was Super Interesting, but how is the normal not-playing-games-against-itself-to-try-and-win AI designed & developed?

Ok, so… Game AI is a really deep subject. Like… deep enough that there are professional engineers and designers who are employed full time to make this sort of thing happen. I can’t do the entire subject justice in a small post I threw together in one evening. So instead, you’ll all get a multi-part series on the topic because it’s something I find fun. 

Let’s take a look at the eagle-eye view of the topic.

Developing Game AI (Part 1)

Normal game AI is definitely different from experimental/theoretical AI. Experimental AI like Deep Blue, AlphaGO, the UC Berkeley Overmind, or OpenAI are developed to see how far computer learning can go. Game AI is primarily geared towards providing a fun experience for the player. This can have some amount of overlap with experimental AI, but the fundamental goals are different, which necessitates different design and implementation. From the very beginning, we developers establish ground rules for what the AI is supposed to do, as well as its limitations. We have to answer questions like:

  • Does the AI represent an equal opponent for the player? (E.g. Hearthstone, Chess, Street Fighter)
  • Will the player fight many AIs at once? Is the AI effectively disposable? (E.g. Dynasty Warriors, Doom)
  • Will the AI need to cooperate with the player? (e.g. Mass Effect, StarCraft)
  • Will the AI need to cooperate/interact with other AI? (e.g. Fallout, Skyrim)
  • Will the AI need to navigate non-uniform terrain? (e.g. Uncharted)

One of the bigger factors to the answers to these questions is how long (we think) it will take us to actually implement these things. We are, after all, always on a schedule. Complicated and extensible AI is great, but not if we can’t fit it into the schedule or budget. Once we figure out the limits of what the AI is supposed to do, we begin with rudimentary design and implementation.

AI development is generally broken into two separate parts - getting the AI to make a choice, then actually executing that choice. These two parts can be (and often are) developed independently of each other. 

Making the choice would be figuring out which card to play, which spell to cast, or which ally to heal. Typically, this involves some sort of prioritization system, where the AI evaluates potential options and chooses one based on some set of established rules. Is attacking more worthwhile than using a spell? How about using an item? Should the AI try to maximize its use of mana per turn for tempo, or should it try to maximize card advantage? Which enemy should the AI target for this attack? The most dangerous one? The one with lowest HP? And how do you quantitatively define “most dangerous” anyway?

Executing the choice is the less sexy, but incredibly important part that most fans don’t think about. In fact, most of the design and implementation time for AI in games is often spent making the execution work. After the AI chooses which spell to cast, how does it actually do it? The AI probably has to move into range, which requires pathfinding. The AI has to cast the spell, which means that it can’t be taking damage, unconscious, silenced, etc. The AI might have to consider environmental hazards when pathfinding. The AI might have to consider its location in the world - say that the player is trying to kite an enemy out of its home base, but the game must stream the environment from the disc. If the player goes too far from the enemy base, it will get unloaded from system memory, and likely take enemy with it. How do we handle such cases?

In addition to that, in many games there’s also an even lower level of AI that often needs to work as well. At its most basic level, the character animation system is governed by AI as well. If the player shoots an enemy, it probably needs to play some sort of take-damage reaction, right? How does the enemy know to do that? Something has to prioritize which animations are playing when, and which take priority over what. Dying usually trumps climbing a ladder or casting a spell. There’s generally an AI that handles what animations a character needs to be playing, and when to transition from one animation to another. Remember, the machine doesn’t have any inherent concept of matching motions or positions or anything; any sort of animation transition must come from some sort of set of rules that we create. That also includes keeping track of states like death, unconscious, aggression, snared, which direction to face, etc. and that AI must be able to override or pause the higher order functions too. After all, the AI shouldn’t be trying to navigate to a point on the map if it’s dead.

Building these sorts of systems require a lot of thought and work. The vast majority of developing game AI is spent solving these kind of core problems on a system-wide level. Things like emulating a personality or adding polish touches often come super late (if at all) in the development cycle, simply because getting the core elements to work requires so much time, effort, and iteration. AI can be as simple or deep as we want, but the very basic stuff requires a lot of work to set up.

Next time, I’ll talk about how we get AI to evaluate choices.

Got a burning question you want answered?

got an anon asking about how I age characters: can’t say I have some surefire recipe, but basically you want to emphasise angles (especially in male faces) and pronounce the bone structure with increasing age, add wrinkles, greying hair,…  

sorry Harry for making you a victim of my attempts

I’m not entirely decided yet, but I’m inclined to think Harry would keep his hair short rather than long as he ages. I’d like to try different hairstyles before I can settle on something though. 

= for those who were wondering about Harry’s hair being too neat in the last pic


length: 1.6k

genre(s): angst+fluff

triggers/warnings: mentions of blood and very minor character injury

simon shows up to the flat with a black eye and a cut lip, refusing to talk about what happened, so a worried penelope asks baz to come over (or the one where simon’s insecure, and baz is terrible at comforting his dragon boyfriend)

a/n: @cherryonsimon is the greatest beta and y’all should go tell her nice things :D

for day three of @snowbaz-feda!!


The door to the flat swings open and Simon barrels his way inside. I gasp when I see him: his shirt is torn with flecks of red (Is that blood?) splattered around the neckline; his hair looks dirty and matted, like he’s been rolling around on the ground; and there’s a definite limp in his step. After slamming the door shut, he winces and grabs his wrist, and that’s when I notice his eye.

“Fuck a nine-toed troll, Simon! What happened to you?”

He won’t look at me and the expression on his face is one I haven’t seen in a long time. It frightens me a bit, but it’s still just as important to me that Simon knows I’m not afraid of him, so I take a step forward. He recoils and pushes past me towards his room, slamming the door once inside, making me flinch.

The sound reverberates through the living room before plunging the flat into absolute silence. It’s horrible.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I walk towards his room, hesitating a beat before knocking. “Simon?” No answer. I try again, knocking louder this time, but he still won’t answer. I try turning the knob, but it’s locked. Chewing on my lip, I consider spelling it open, but that would be breaking unspoken roommate rules, so I do the only thing I can think of right now.

I ring Baz.

* * *

I’m sitting in an evening lecture when my mobile starts to vibrate. It’s on the desk and the noise makes a few of my fellow students turn around and stare. I sneer at them (old habits), and look to see who’s calling.

It’s Bunce.

It’s not that we aren’t close enough to call each other, it’s just that we never do. The fact that she has, and especially during a time she knows I’m at school, makes my blood run cold. I’m so distracted with worry that I forget to move the desk over, and when I go to stand it pins me to the chair. Cursing loudly–and drawing even more curious eyes–I slam the damned piece of wood out of the way, and stalk out of the hall.

I manage to answer on the last ring.

“Baz?” Bunce’s voice sounds strange through the speaker, like she’s trying not to cry, “can you come over? Something’s happened with Simon.”

I drop the phone and it shatters on the pavement.

* * *

For the second time tonight, the door to the flat swings open. Only this time it’s Baz who practically falls through, righting himself at the last minute. He looks like he ran the entire distance between school and the flat. The screen of the mobile he’s clutching is shattered, something I don’t remember seeing before. Is that my fault?

“B–” I don’t even get a chance to say his full name when he marches towards me, our difference in height making itself known as he towers over me. (In reality it’s only several inches.) (It feels like miles.)

“Where is he?”

I point to Simon’s room and Baz nods. I wish I could tell him what happened, but I don’t exactly know myself. I just know I can’t fix this alone.


The smell of blood hit me as soon as I entered the flat and it only gets stronger the closer I get to the bedroom.

Snow’s door is locked, so I cast when one door closes. It works, and the one in front of me opens wide. I can’t see anything at first; Snow’s drawn the curtains shut and even turned out the light in the en suite, drowning the room in darkness. I use my mobile to guide me towards his bed and the red lump that I assume is my boyfriend.

“Snow?” I ask, biting my lip. Perhaps I should use his first name, given the situation, but I try and reserve that for when I really need it, like when we’re being soft. Or when I want him to know I’m afraid. “Snow?” I try again and the lump doesn’t move, but it does yelp when I poke it with the tip of my wand.

“Go away,” I hear him mumble, but I know he doesn’t mean it. (The door spell wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t wanted to let me in.)

I square my shoulders. “No.” I need Snow to tell me what happened and I’ll stand here all night if I have to. This must occur to him, because he lifts his head.  

My breath catches when I see his black eye and bloody lip. I reach out to touch them, pulling my hand back at the last minute.

“What happened to you?”

He shrugs and I want to strangle him.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I snap.

“I got in a fight on my way home.”

“No shit.”

“There were 3 or 4 guys; I don’t remember. They wanted my wallet, but I’d forgotten it at work and they weren’t very happy about that.”

I try to stop myself from picturing the scene in my head. Snow on the ground, surrounded by these men, being hurt by these men. Snow. Defenseless. I can’t process it.

Although he hasn’t held that title in a long time, Snow will always be the chosen one to me; seeing him so broken and defeated over something like this is overwhelming. He’s supposed to be strong, he’s supposed to be brave, he’s supposed to save the world. He’s supposed to be able to save himself.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Simon beaten and bloody, but it’s the worst time. It’s not that his injuries are severe (they really aren’t), it’s just that…

This wasn’t supposed to happen any more. We were supposed to disguise as regular Normals and live our happily ever after; nothing bad was supposed to touch us again.

Then he goes and gets himself mugged. It’s so horribly mundane, so insignificant next to every creature and task he’s taken on, yet this is the thing that breaks him. I’m furious on his behalf. I want to hurt the people who hurt him.

I swallow. “What happened next?”

“I tried–I tried to call–my sword…but–”

“It didn’t come.” I don’t even bother phrasing it as a question. I can’t believe this, “you were going to try fighting off a bunch of thugs with a sword? Are you daft?”

He looks miserable. “I was distracted by that long enough to give them a chance to jump me, and, well…” he rolls his hurt wrist and I catch it between my fingers, pulling my wand from my pocket with my other hand. He grits his teeth as I cast get well soon, listening for the crack that signifies it worked. I bring his now healed wrist to my lips and kiss it, feeling his pulse thumping under my lips.

Snow clenches his hand into a fist and I drop his arm, looking up at his face and hating what I see there. The healing spell had taken care of his eye and lip, but that lip is quivering now, and fat tears are beginning to rolls down his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut and starts gulping air, his arms wrapped around his knees and head bowed.

I want to reach out and touch him; make this better, make this go away, make him stop. I want to make him stop. He’s almost sobbing now and I don’t know what to do. I have to stop this.

“Shut up, Simon! Just shut up!”

His head snaps up and he looks at me as if I’ve slapped him. I almost feel like I have.

“What the fuck, Baz?” his breath catches on my name and I feel my heart sink just that much more.

I didn’t mean it. I want to apologize, but the words won’t come; they’re stuck in my throat and I clench my fists as I try to force them out. He’s still staring at me, his face etched in an angry frown, and I give up on speaking.

He watches me warily as I sit down on the bed and I flinch. The scent of blood is stronger now, and I can feel my fangs threatening to pop. I curse the fact that I haven’t fed recently and try to will them to stay put. The last thing I need to do is make the situation worse.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and he blinks at me. “I’m sorry,” I repeat and his face crumples as he falls forward. I let him bury his face into my chest, let him clutch at my shirt, let his tears soak the fabric. I let him cry until he can’t anymore. His breathing is even and quiet now; and I’m relieved.


Baz pulls me close, pressing a kiss against my temple: once, twice, three times. I can tell he thinks I’m asleep, because he’s murmuring things he’d never let me hear otherwise. He’s calling me Simon and telling me he loves me and how scared he was and how brave and stupid I am.

He starts scratching lightly at the spot between my wings, the one he knows I love, and I’m melting into the mattress.

He somehow manages to press himself even closer, his breathing tickling my ear as he whispers, “you’re so bloody stupid, you know that? I don’t need a Chosen One; I don’t need a fairy tale; I certainly don’t need some self-sacrificing superhuman with a hero complex. I just want you, Simon Snow.” He stops to kiss my shoulder.

“I just want you.” It’s a reassurance and a promise. And I believe it.

I want you too, I think back at him, I want you too.

January told me that just because a new year starts doesn’t mean a new me has to start.

February showed me that I am worthy of being loved.

March exposed me and all my worries and insecurities, and made me stronger by beating me down.

April taught me that sometimes other people see parts of yourself better than you do, but they may not always see the dark parts.

May spread me so thinly that I felt as if I were a drop of rain trying to cover an entire sidewalk.

June set me up; sometimes people are terrible, terrible creatures, and they’re willing to twist things however they need to in order to get what they want.

July presented me with an opportunity to prove that moving on doesn’t mean letting go.

August allowed me to rebuild parts of myself I thought I had lost.

September erased me; once again I would be a blank slate, and that haunted me for days.

October held me up for the world to see; I was now a part of something bigger than myself, something bigger that could make a difference.

November terrified me, showed me that out of sight did not mean out of mind, told me I was still in love even though I tried so hard to let go.

December let me know that just because the year is coming to an end doesn’t mean I have to as well.

response to discourse

i’d put a readmore, but currently this hurricane is fucking up my shit and i have no power, so i’m on mobile.

as many of you know, my recent character sheet of john laurens got a BUNCH of hate on tumblr, i got accused of homosexual ERASURE, because john isn’t JUST homosexual- he’s panromantic, which means he can experience romantic attraction to anyone regardless of their gender. that doesn’t have to involve sexual attraction… when he was younger, he didn’t know what he was feeling, so he took martha to bed because he mixed his feelings up. after all was said and done, they talked it out, they got a clean divorce, and they’re good friends now. he’s always felt kinda awkward about it, because the full on homosexuals in his community gawk at the fact he says he truly loved and cared about a woman before, and the heterosexuals know he’s flaming so he just… doesn’t fit.
he cries about it a lot. he’s trying his best, and i’m trying to be unique and give EVERYONE a representation. so naturally, you’re gonna see shit that usually isn’t talked about. but it’s real. and i’m gonna vocalize them on my ask blog. so things are gonna be different from what you usually see in other people’s aus/canon. alexander isn’t trans in canon, but we do it anyways, and that’s fine. so why can’t john have his usual sexual identity and something that would explain things/make so much sense as well? that’s just how i see it, and i’m not gonna force you to see things my way. i’m just gonna run things how i run things, because it’s m…y askblog.

if anything, your behaviors are harmful, because you’re trying to force the entire lgbtq+ spectrum into a box of ‘EITHER YOU’RE GAY OR YOU’RE NOT’, and that’s just not accurate, and it’s just not right.

this is probably why lin left tumblr. he probably didn’t appreciate randos like you telling him how to run his play and write for his characters. notice i said 'probably’. i didn’t speak as though it were a definite, because i don’t try and shove my thoughts and hypotheses down people’s throats who aren’t here to speak for themselves.

and this is probably why many other good people are going to leave this hellsite as well. it’s never any other site. it’s JUST tumblr. always just tumblr, and people who come FROM tumblr to other sites. you can tell by the way they speak and how they relentlessly degrade you, your work, your thoughts, and your opinions, and how they can only be the one who is right. and they must ALWAYS. have the last word.

well, sorry. i’m having the last word here. because it’s my au. my blood, sweat, tears and hard work tryna draw and satisfy my followers and people who look up to me and admire my varying representations.
you can’t advocate for equality and then shit on someone trying to bring to light the same.
don’t worry, i’m not silencing y'all. you can continue to voice your opinions.
but i’ll tell you what.
if you come up in here trying to start discourse and bullshit again on a blog people come to to have fun and view different interpretations for of characters they all know and love– i’m gonna block you. then you’ll really be mad.

this is the last statement i’m making on the matter. have a great day, everyone. i will continue to post! ♡

Falling to Pieces


A/N: This wasn’t requested, I just really wanted to write this. I might take it down again, I don’t really know. 

Word count: 1,901

Falling to Pieces

I was laying curled up on the wide, empty bed, still feeling my body trembling. The room was dark and quiet, way too quiet. It was probably somewhere around four in the morning but I wasn’t sure and frankly, I couldn’t care less about it.

Keep reading

Meta: Down in the Muck - Mr Ketch, Dean and Masculine Hunting Identities

In the past eleven seasons, SPN has mainly depicted American hunters as blue-collar workers with a very traditional view of masculinity. John Winchester with his giant machete, his penis truck and his Playboys was a perfect embodiment of said hunting culture. The British Men of Letters differ radically from this concept both in terms of socioeconomic status and in their sense of masculinity.

When Mick approaches Wally in First Blood, the latter tells him, “You can take your offer and you can shove it up your ass. I’m sure it won’t be too painful,  what with those soft hands of yours, right?“ The homophobic and misogynist implications here are obvious - Wally deems Mick too “effeminate”.

Mr Ketch is a slightly different case than Mick. In the latest episode, we see him actively try to refashion himself as an “American style” hunter in order to recruit Dean. Something which despite his own assessment really doesn’t go down to well.

Keep reading

Flufflet #1 for @lifeinahole27, to help reward her for writing her CSBB story!

First up, some wedding (reception) related fluff–

Emma had initially been opposed to having a redo wedding reception, but once it became clear that the whole town viewed it as the opportunity to have a really baller victory party, there was very little she could do to argue against it. 

So everyone all got dressed up again, went back to the rooftop, and enjoyed the wedding reception that should have happened a week earlier. And Emma had to admit, it was kind of a blast, eating, drinking, laughing, and dancing the whole night.

Her feet were killing her as they pulled up to the house once the party ended. Snow and Regina had both objected pretty vehemently to Emma being the one to drive, but Killian was still learning how to drive stick, so what else were they supposed to do? Besides, they had to drive home; Henry had decorated the Bug with streamers and cans and a “Just Married (Last Week)” sign.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian said as they climbed up the front steps.


“Let’s do this properly.” He reached down and lifted her up in a bridal carry.

“Killian, we did this already.” They had; right after the final battle, he’d carried her over the threshold, insisting that this was going to be their wedding night, come hell or high water.

“Well, now we’re doing it again. Don’t argue with me.” And over the threshold they went.

“I need something to drink,” she said, before he could carry her up the stairs. “Come on, we’ll do the whole wedding night thing, I just want some time to breathe, okay?” God, how did couples go right to wedding night sex after their wedding receptions? All she wanted to do right now was sit and watch TV. Was that normal?

He set her down and wandered into the living room while she busied herself in the kitchen. “Want anything?”

“Perhaps some water–with a little lemon juice in it.”

“Oh, good idea.” She grabbed and extra glass and grabbed the bottle of lemon juice from the fridge. Killian hated it, preferring to use real lemons all the time, but she liked the convenience.

He was smiling at her, almost like he was dazed, as she sat down beside him and handed him his glass. He took a quick gulp and then settled his left arm around her. “I had a lovely time tonight.”

“Me, too.” Mmm, yeah, the lemon had been a good idea. “I’m just glad Gold didn’t kill you on the spot when you offered to shake his hand. Did you hit your head or something?”

“Inviting him and Belle was your idea.”

“Yeah, because Belle’s one of your close friends. We had to invite Gold because we invited her.”

He snorted. “Are you truly upset that I’m trying to put the past behind me and make peace with him?”

“No, just … I’m surprised, I guess. I just thought maybe you’d settle for not murdering each other.”

“He’s a father again, and he’s trying to make things work with Belle. I suppose the best way to keep him from relapsing is to ensure he has the same safety net that I have.”

“Noble.” She sipped her water.

“I try.” She let out a long sigh without thinking. “Something wrong?”

“No, just … I’m glad we got to have our wedding. I didn’t get to really appreciate just how fantastic you look in that tux.”

He grinned. “Aye, and now I can tell you just how beautiful you are in your gown. You look like a swan.”

“No,” she said, her face hot.

“Well, perhaps more so when you wore your veil.” She’d taken it off halfway through the night, and if she was being honest, she had no idea where it went. Oops. “But I stand by my comment.”

“Swans are vicious,” she reminded him.

“And elegant.” He gave her a strange look. “Those earrings look familiar.”

She blushed. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Where have I seen them before?”

“Our first date.”

The look of wonder on his face was enough to make her want to melt. “Really?” She nodded. “Well, they’re lovely.”

“And that date was lovely,” she said. “Your own issues aside.”

“Oy, I think I’ve suffered enough for that one.”

They sat quietly for a bit as they sipped their water. When he finished his, he set it down on the coffee table (on a coaster of course), and took her free hand in his. “I can’t believe we’re married.”

“We’ve been married for a week,” she reminded him. She began to toy with his rings.

“Aye, and in a week, I’ll still wake up and think about how strange it is that we’re married.”

“Bad strange?”


“I know what you mean.” She still felt almost giddy that she had a husband.

She wished little kid Emma could see this–that she’d grow up to be a literal princess who was married to the hottest man to ever walk the earth. Hell, she wished twenty-eight-year-old Emma Swan could see this; it would have been way more mind-blowing than the son she gave up for adoption showing up to tell her fairy tales were real. Or at least equally unbelievable.

Something felt different. “Whoa.”


“Your rings.”

“Well, I had to remove it to wear my wedding ring.”

“No, I know. I meant the other two.”

“What about them?”

“They’re different.”

“Aye. Swan, you’re very astute.”

“Killian,” she said firmly. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, and you’ve always worn the same three rings. What gives?”

He sighed. “I’ll never entirely be free of my past,” he said quietly. “I can’t erase the harm I’ve done, the people I’ve killed, the destruction I’ve caused. But I want our future together to be a happy one. I want to spend my days building something with you, with our family. It’s why I’m trying to make peace with the Crocodile.”

“If you’re trying to make peace with him, you might want to stop calling him that,” she interjected. He glared at her. “Sorry.”

“As I was saying, my darling wife.” His irritation was fond, at least. “Those rings were always reminders of the man I was. For a long time, I assumed I would always wear them, as a way of never letting myself forget to stay on the right path. But I had to part with one of them so I could wear my wedding ring, and it made me realize …” He took a deep breath. “My ring symbolizes all that now. I look at it, and I think of you and our life together. I don’t need the other reminders anymore. And so I decided it was time to find some new rings.”

“I think that’s great.” She lifted his hand up and kissed each ring, ending on the wedding band. She loved seeing it on his hand; she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of it. “I do like the new rings a lot.”

“I’m glad. Your family helped pick them out.”


“Well, mostly your mother and Regina,” he admitted. “But your father and Henry approved the final choices.”

She looked down at his hand again. She’d grown so familiar with his old rings that the new ones had felt all wrong. But now? They weren’t wrong anymore.

God, she loved him too much. And now he was her husband.



“Let’s go have our wedding night.”

Gideon in a Nutshell

A Story of Silence

Hixus: “You look sad, boy.”

What Gideon is thinking: I could be because my father abandoned me before I was born. My mother died a few years after. I had to join a gang to survive. We stole from the rich and gave to the poor because my sense of justice didn’t feel comfortable simply stealing things. Then, I got arrested for trying to survive and for doing the right thing.

What Gideon says: “I didn’t sleep all too well last night. I’m fine.”

Later, when harpies and cyclopses attack the prison

Hixus: “Gideon, can I trust you to go grab your friends and help me fight off these attackers?”

What Gideon is thinking: About time I get to show the world my passion for justice! Of course I’ll come back. I never abandon the people who count on me.

What Gideon Says: “Sure.”

Later, on Bant

The Angels and Knights of Bant: “You seem disoriented. Are you unwell?”

What Gideon is thinking: My arrogance cost me the life of my closest friends. Immediately afterwards, I was thrown into an entirely new world. I’m lonely and afraid, mourning my friends, questioning my beliefs and ideals, adjusting to a new plane, and building a new life for myself. Of course I’m disoriented!

What Gideon Says: “Nah. Just a little lightheaded. It’ll pass.”

Later, on Diraden

Prince Velrav: “Are you afraid of what I have prepared for you, Planeswalker?”

What Gideon is thinking: I’ve fallen in love with a woman you’re forcing to marry you. I’m strapped to my death bed as you prepare to suck my blood in an attempt to take my Planeswalker spark. OF COURSE I’M AFRAID!

What Gideon Says: “I fear nothing.”

Later, on Regatha

Chandra: “Feeling guilty for handing me over to your stupid order of Heliud?”

What Gideon is thinking: My sense of duty and loyalty compelled me to quite possibly lead Chandra to her doom. Who am I? What do I really believe in?

What Gideon Says: “I hope you survive the Purifying Fire, Chandra.”

Later, on Zendikar

The Zendikari: “You look tired, Gideon. You okay?”

What Gideon is thinking: I’ve been taking on the Shatter Gang Brothers by myself AND the Eldrazi. I haven’t slept or had a full meal in days.

What Gideon Says: “I’m just a little tired.”

Later, after the Battle of Sea Gate

The Zendikari: “You look tense, Gideon. You alright?”

What Gideon is thinking: I’m in charge of an entire army fighting against the Eldrazi. Every single decision I make will be the difference between losing dozens of soldiers or hundreds of soldiers. No matter what choice I make, people will die. Try to understand the kind of pressure I’m under right now!

What Gideon Says: “I’m just excited for the upcoming battle.”

Later, on Innistrad

Jace: “You alright, Gideon? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

What Gideon is thinking: I let my arrogance cause the death of the last tight knit group of friends I was a part of. My self confidence and esteem are ground into dust. I have no one I can talk to about this without compromising the faith the members of the Gatewatch have in me.

What Gideon Says: “I’m getting myself mentally prepared for the fight.”

Later, on Ravnica

Nissa: “You look uncomfortable, Gideon.”

What Gideon is thinking: “I’m… not fighting? What am I supposed to do with my life without something to fight? I’m lost and confused. For once I have time to have some introspection and I’m terrified of what I’m seeing. There’s no battle to distract myself with! What. Is. Downtime!?!?

What Gideon Says: “I want to stretch out my muscles. Train with me?.”

Later, on Kaladesh

Ajani: “I sense that you are in distress, Gideon.”

What Gideon is thinking: I’m having trouble finding my purpose, the purpose of my team, right now. We’re fighting against the Consulate when we should be going after Tezzeret. I’m just questioning my ideals and life choices… again. I feel lost.

What Gideon Says: “I’m strategically analyzing our forces to optimize our movements.”


Chandra: “You look all sweaty, Gids.”

What Gideon is thinking: She’s talking to me! Oh gods! Okay. Okay. Just. Take it easy. Relax. Play it cool. Just be yourself. Oh, wow. She’s got beautiful eyes. She’s just so attractive. Stop it! Keep your mind clear. Just play it cool.

What Gideon Says: “Not used to this heat, is all.”

Later, on Amonkhet

Liliana: “What’s got you all bouncy and excited, beefslab?”

What Gideon is thinking: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! There. Are. Gods! Here! Gods that interact with the people even! I feel my existential crisis returning…

What Gideon Says: “Just admiring the architecture.”

madlori  asked:

Re: Jeff Flake. I agree that without voting to back it up rhetoric won't result in action, but what I'm more interested in is his words, and those of an increasing number of right-wing writers and pundits, influencing R voters.

I’m just so tired of people like Flake and McCain granting all kinds of rhetorical cover for garbage humans like Rand Paul and Mitch McConnell and the entire House GOP. But I hope you’re right. I hope that a torrent of other people who can make a difference start doing something, and if these words inspire that, whether or not Flake personally follows it up with action, that will be, on balance, a good thing.

A person I deeply respect recently observed that we who are in opposition to this nightmare need to accept people who genuinely want to steer the GOP away from extremism, and offer space in the lifeboats to those who are trying to flee the sinking ship. I’d only agree with that if, once they are off the ship and safely back on land, they don’t go right back to using every breath in their bodies to cause harm to the very people who helped save them from drowning, and history tells us that we may be fools to give them the benefit of the doubt.

anonymous asked:

Hi Steph! There's something I've always been thinking about... I always thought it was confirmed from the beginning that Sherlock was gay. Both Angelo and Mrs Hudson assume that he and John are involved as soon as they meet them and both of them have known Sherlock for a long time. Maybe it's because I'm from a different culture, but why would they assume John was Sherlock's boyfriend unless they knew Sherlock was gay. I mean that's not something you usually say to a straight man otherwise?

Hey Nonny!

Yeah, nope you hit the nail on the head; it’s TOTALLY not something one would say to or about a straight man – as well as TRYING TO MAKE HIM SEEM LIKE A GREAT CATCH TO ANOTHER MAN – and have him be silent about it THE ENTIRE TIME, rather he preens at the compliments and CONTINUES to look good for John. 

Like… Sherlock’s sexuality is consistently CONFIRMED ON THE TEXTUAL LEVEL in the first episode, and yet, 7 years later, we’re still here, flapping the canon evidence around like WE’RE the crazy ones and everyone else just sticking their fingers in their ears… Including Mofftiss, ffs.

So it’s not just you, Nonny. Sherlock is Gay and trying to impress and keep John from day one.

belgastel  asked:

i don't know if you're still taking these but whatever, thought i'd try anyway lol malec + "Hey, have you seen the…? Oh.”

anonymous said: Malec + “have you seen the.. oh”

magnus loved potions. the process of making them required precision and research, patience, it was a delicate thing and there was something about it that magnus loved.

this potion however, was just being a little shit.

it required different amounts of each ingredient depending on who wanted to use it, and this particular combination was one magnus hadn’t encountered before. which is why he’s spent the entire day behind the closed doors of his office, brewing and mixing, trying to get it right.

he even called catarina, who was now in the living room, working out how much of the last few ingredients they’d need and tweaking the spell required to finish the potion.

magnus stretches his hand out to the side of the table, reaching for an herb he needed to add, but finding that it’s not there. his eyes scan his desk, but he doesn’t see the jar he’s looking for.

making his way to the living room, he yells out, “have you seen the… oh.”

magnus freezes in his spot as he takes in the scene in front of him. catarina sitting on the counter, chatting happily, talking with her hands as she’s always done. and the person she’s talking to is alec, who is putting pink and purple flowers in a deep blue vase, an easy smile on his face.

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The British lead singer of boy band One Direction, Styles had no previous feature film acting credits, but he quickly impressed the Dunkirk team. ‘I certainly didn’t think it was obvious when his name first came up,’ admits Thomas. However, Greg Silverman, then president of creative development and worldwide production at Warner Bros, 'emailed us and said, I’ve met this guy Harry, he’s really something, I would love for you to consider him.’

   Styles came in and read for Papsidera and then for Nolan, and began to emerge as a major casting possibility. 'The truth is, it wasn’t obvious until you see him audition,’ says Thomas, 'He, like Fionn, has a very natural ability. I think we did two or three days where we had a larger group of guys come in and we were trying them out in different combinations, and [the decision to cast him] was entirely due to what he showed us on those days during those auditions.

—  From The Making of Dunkirk (major spoilers at source)
No Happy Endings | Wonho [M]

Originally posted by wonhontology

Warnings: Strong language, implied sexual activities (nondescriptive smut)

word count: 2,335


1 | 2 | …

Part 3: Bullshit, bullshit, and.. oh look, more bullshit.

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anonymous asked:

Tendou, Asahi, Bokuto, Lev and Kuroo while they are with their wife in labor? And the wives very angry, bc "hey, you put this child/these children into me, you jerk" (I love so much this situation. *_* x)) Pretty please? *little kitten eyes*

So I changed this up a little bit for variety and realism’s sake; I just had a class all about coping with labor and the stages of it, so a lot of this is from that. Also, every woman is different. This came out a touch softer than the anon anticipated, I think, so sorry about that??? Hope you enjoy regardless!!!
~Admin Emma


He remembered the suggestion in your labor class to walk, so he took you on a short lap around the maternity ward. You clung to his arm, and even if it hurt, he didn’t care. He couldn’t even imagine the pain you were in. You’d been extremely quiet so far, focused entirely on your labor. He wanted to try and distract you, maybe make you focus on something other than the pain, make you smile or laugh or just roll your eyes at him, but he couldn’t think of anything.

“____? Are you alright?”

Your grip tightened on his sleeve; your eyes squeezed closed, and you were drawing slow, careful breaths through pursed lips. He checked his watch–the contractions were getting closer together.

“Easy, babe,” he murmured, pulling you to a stop. “Come here. Just breathe… I’m here.”

He held you in what the nurse called the Slow Dance pose. He pressed in tightly on your hips, trying to match the intensity of your contractions, like the nurse told him. You put your hands around his shoulders and leaned heavily on him while he encouraged you to rock your hips. He would have to remind you later that you were a literal fucking rock star for taking a stab at natural childbirth. If it had been him, he’d have accepted all manner of experimental drugs if it meant he didn’t have to go through it.

“Satori,” you whimpered, your voice painfully small and broken. “It hurts so much, Satori. I can’t…”

“You can,” he assured. He couldn’t even try and joke, as much as he wanted to, if only to distract you. It broke his heart to hear you like this. “I know you can, ____. It won’t be much longer.”


“Easy, ____,” he said softly, carefully helping you onto the birthing ball. He tapped on his phone a few times, setting an alarm for twenty minutes. “Alright, how’s this?”

“Better,” you groaned, carefully balancing on the ball. He watched you carefully, but you seemed fine as you gently rocked your hips. He put his hands on your shoulders, trying to be the support you so clearly needed but were too afraid to ask for, for some reason. Nearly a decade together and you were still so hesitant sometimes. “I’m sorry, Asahi.”

“What’re you sorry for, doll?” Asahi asked, digging his thumbs into that part of your neck that always made you melt.

“I’m being such a pain right now,” you said. “I feel useless.”

If it hadn’t been for the sincere regret in your eyes, he’d have laughed until he cried. Clearly, labor was making you a little insane; “Sweetheart, you’re having my baby. I couldn’t be happier right now!”


“No buts,” he interjected. “You are doing amazing, and if anyone in this room is useless, it’s me. You’re doing all the hard work, and I will be here to support you, no matter what.”

You opened your mouth to respond, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips, before he felt the tension in your shoulders. All the air escaped your body in a hiss of pain and your hands curled into fists so tight, your knuckles turned white.

“Contraction?” he asked. You could only nod as you squeezed your eyes tight. “Alright, doll, easy. Breathe. Try and relax. Remember what the doctor said.”

You nodded as he pressed his hand against your coccyx, trying to apply counter pressure. He rested his forehead against the back of your neck, trying not to let his heart break at the soft sounds of pain you made. He wanted to fall apart–he was ready for the anxiety to overtake him any minute, but he couldn’t. He had to be your rock–your pillar–because you were doing to hard part.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity (though it probably felt longer to you) he felt you relax. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, and whispering what a good job you were doing. It may have been nonsense and gibberish, but it seemed to comfort you a little.

“You can do it, ____. I have faith in you.”


You were having what the doctors called “precipitous labor.” He wasn’t 100% sure what all the technical jargon meant, but you’d come in for a labor evaluation less than an hour before and you were almost ready to push. The nurses said that fast labors like this were extremely uncomfortable and could be incredibly intense, and Bokuto hated that you had to go through it, even if it meant it would be over faster.

You were on constant monitoring, so you couldn’t wander too far from the labor and delivery room. At the moment, you were balanced on a birthing ball with your face buried into the bed. He sat behind you, pressing the spiky plastic ball they’d given you into the small of your back. It seemed to be helping a bit, but he’d never felt more useless than when you let out a tiny sob of pain into your pillow. You’d been crying softly since your contractions became regular, and he wished he knew what to do.

“Kou,” you whimpered, raising your tear-stained face from the sheets.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, ready to spring into action. “What do you need? You need to switch positions? Should I stop what I’m doing?”

“No, just…” You bit your lip, your eyes squeezed tight in intense pain. He hated this–the doctor couldn’t even give you anything for the pain. You were too far along in your labor. “Can I have a hug, please?”

He had to grin at that; “Sure thing, babe. Whatever you need.”

He wrapped his arms around you, careful to avoid touching your belly–you’d told him that any pressure on it was too uncomfortable. He held you as tight as he could while maintaining pressure on your lower back. He could feel the moment you were racked with another contraction, and he tried to encourage you to relax a little bit, otherwise he knew it would be worse.

“I hate this,” you cried, holding your pillow to your face again. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“It’ll be all over soon, babe,” he tried to reassure you. “Then we’ll be parents. We’ll get to hold little Akio soon. Just a little bit longer.”


You’d had a plan, damn it. Every book, every anecdote, every class had said that walking, changing position, and moving around were best for expedient labor. So you’d planned on waiting to go into labor naturally, putter around your house until the last possible second, and go into the hospital.

Sadly, babies tended to ruin any and all plans, and unforeseen complications came up which meant you had to be induced early. The procedure had left you bedridden on constant, internal monitoring (which was just the pits, and you could confirm that). So now there was nothing to do but wait out the inevitably long, painful labor.

Bless your husband. He was trying, but you were cranky and in pain and there was nothing you could do.

“Fuck you, Lev! This is your fault!”

“How is this my fault!?” Lev asked helplessly, trying (and mostly failing) to dodge the pillow you threw at his head.

“You put your mutant spawn in me!” you exclaimed. “You just had to be freakishly huge! You just had to laugh when your mother proudly proclaimed you weighed 5 kilograms when you came out! We just had to do this naturally!”

“You’re allergic to pain meds, babe,” Lev said. You scowled when you saw his eyebrow cocked at you.

“You’re a jerk, Lev,” you sniffled, burying your face in your pillow. The nurses had already told you in no uncertain terms that you shouldn’t be screaming.

“Hey,” he whispered, suddenly near your ear. You shrank away from him as you felt another contraction coming on. “I know this sucks, but it’s not going to last forever.”

“Yes it is,” you whimpered. “I’m going to be in labor for the rest of my life. I’m going to die in this fucking uncomfortable bed.”

“Hey, where’d your big pillow go? I thought we packed it.”

“It’s in my bag, Lev, where the fuck else would it be?”

With some effort, he got you rolled on your side with your big maternity pillow supporting your legs and your huge stomach. It was getting so late and you were so tired, and you still had such a long way to go. You wanted to hit him, but his long fingers in your hair stopped you. You hated him at the moment, but he was being so sweet.

“I’ll see if I can’t score you some ice chips or something,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Try and get some sleep, babe. You’re a bit cranky.”

“A bit cranky?” you snapped. “If I was able to get out of this fucking bed, I’d knock you on your ass for that!”

You figured he realized his error, because even as fast as he was, you’d never seen him scurry like you did in that moment.


You’d learned early in the whole laboring process that the best way to go forward was to just stay calm. During your earliest contractions, you’d been ready to have a panic, because nothing was ready and you felt so grossly unprepared. But then, you’d sat on the couch, and Kuroo’s colossally fat and incredibly sweet geriatric black cat, Gumball, curled in your lap for a little nap, and something about it had calmed you. It had been the middle of the night, and you didn’t even feel the need to wake Kuroo up.

About six hours later, you’d decided to go to the hospital, you still had this odd serenity about you. Your doctor and nurses asked you if you needed anything for pain, and you just shrugged. You were fine, at the moment. You parked on the birthing ball, rocking back and forth, casually reading your book.

Kuroo, on the other hand, was a mess.

When he’d woken up to find you in labor, he had that panic you’d managed to not have earlier. He’d been ready to whisk you off to the hospital at that exact moment despite the fact that you were still very early and he was still wearing the bright pink Tokyo Disney pajamas you’d gotten him as a joke for his last birthday. Every contraction had him fluttering around you like a fussy mother hen, and his bed hair was even worse for the number of times he’d raked his hand through it.

You were dragged back to your present situation but a particularly intense contraction. You curled around yourself, whimpering quietly. The doctors said you’d passed pretty much passed straight through active labor and were heading into transition labor, so it would be more intense.

Poor Kuroo’s heart couldn’t take it anymore, it seemed.

“Babe!? You ok?!? You need anything? What can I do!?!”

“Tetsurou, please, it’s just a contraction,” you said once it passed. He rubbed soothing circles on your lower back, pressing his heel on your tailbone like he’d been taught. “Oh please never move your hand from my back, though. That feels amazing.”

“Whatever you need,” he replied. He was clearly exhausted and anxious–he looked like a stiff breeze might knock him over.

“What I need is my husband to survive long enough to meet his son,” you said sardonically, gently running your fingers over the back of his head. He practically purred as he leaned into your touch, leaning heavily on your shoulders. “You should sit and have a little rest, doll.”

“You’re the one in labor,” he sighed. “When did you get to be the supportive one, here?”

“You don’t have to sleep,” you said, ignoring his question. “I know you won’t be able to.”

“I just feel pretty useless.” He dropped his chin to rest on top of your head, gently caressing your rounded belly. You winced, but didn’t say anything. “I’m not used to being helpless in crises. I sort of thrive on action, you know.”

“Oh yes, my hero,” you shot back with a roll of your eyes. “Alright, action boy, if you want to make yourself useful, see if you can’t get the nurses to score me some ice chips or a drink of water, yeah? And fish my chapstick out of my bag for me.”

He smirked, shot you a mock salute, and returned to his full height; “You got it, babe.”

anonymous asked:

y'know that one post where it's like *best friend calls me and asks abt what color my dress is for prom so he can get a matching tie and i asked "since when were we goin to prom and he's all like "fuck i forgot"*? how about that but with josuke bc i can totally see that happening with him, sweet precious babby (please and thank you, i need more josuke fluff in my lif e)

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Why I Ship Junkrat and Symmetra

It’s much more than “opposites attract”. I see it more as what they could do for each other to broaden their views on life.
Junkrat is a “Do first and don’t even bother thinking later” type of person while Symmetra is more calculated and seems like she wouldn’t do anything no mater how simple without overthinking everything to the point of annoyance. He’s spontaneous while she’s has a very strict life.

He can teach her how to have fun in the unknown, it’s important to have fun in whatever you do and sometimes to have fun you need to take a little risk.

On the opposite side, Satya can teach Jamison patience. Although there is fun in the unknown, it’s dangerous and he could get himself killed. I can imagine him her teaching him how hunch others like Roadhog cares for him and makes him realize how much he means to people. Of course she won’t change him completely but she would definitely make him stop and think more and in doing so, make him a better person.

The biggest thing is I can totally imagine Jamison being completely embarrassed about his feelings for her at firsts because he’s this dirty little idiot who’s in love with someone the most beautiful being he’s ever seen; someone who probably never pay him any attention let alone have feelings for him. She’s someone who isn’t “out of his league” she’s playing an entirely different sport.
On the other end she would probably be embarrassed about what other people would think to know that she’s in love filthy poor trouble maker from the deserts of Australia.

In the end she makes the first move and it’s obviously Roadhog that convinces Jamison to go for it.

I like to imagine Junkrat trying to clean himself up and wear something really nice to impress her but what ever he wears is the unlisted assortment of fabrics and colors a person can witness but in the end it works.

I may have gotten carried away and this went from explaining why I ship them and turned it into my own personal headcanon but I have no regrets