prayer bell

One of my favorite things about overwatch as a whole is how much of their energy went into the character animation. Every single one of them has mannerisms that are all unique even down to their “Hello!” hand-waves. Seriously, there’s a difference between Soldier’s slow and minimal open-palmed wave and Ana’s salute, between Sombra’s curly-fingered long nailed wave and Reaper’s wave seeming more like he’s trying to grab something, between Bastion’s choppy finger-wave and the repair module waving in sentry mode and Genji’s short bow with a distinctive hand motion. It’s all completely unique to each character to express something about their personalities even with the same general motion.

This isn’t even the half of it. Compare EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER’S seated emote for example. Even if characters are in the same pose, like McCree and Bastion and Lucio? The way they ENTER those poses is completely different. McCree holsters his gun and sets his hand on the ground before seating. Bastion spreads their legs a bit, balances with their arms, and then PLOMPS onto the dirt unceremoniously. Lucio fuckin BREAKDANCES into his seat, how extra can you get, what a show-off, I love him.

And the guys who take a knee instead of sitting down??? Also completely different. Pharah does a little flourish with her weapon before kneeling. Soldier just sweeps into it, all no-nonsense and efficient. Ana sweeps her cloak behind her first and gently eases into the kneel. Reinhardt fuckin hefts his hammer murder-side down and kneels like a knight, gazing slightly upwards to some imaginary monarch he’s in the service of. Zarya clonks her whole gun on the ground and kneels beside it, and it really starts to make sense just how BIG and HEAVY that thing is when you see it beside her like that.

The meditators? Fuckin. Nothing is safe from the character quirks and differences. Genji makes some kind of hand pose on one foot and balances into meditation, keeping his hand near his face. Zenyatta hovers a little lower, bows his head, and his orbs spread out to chime like prayer bells. Hanzo sets his bow down and sits seiza, with his hands on his knees. On that note, Mei also sits seiza but doesn’t meditate, instead awkwardly looking around and glancing at snowball for confidence.

And the COMPLETELY unique poses are probably my favorites. Junkrat wants you to paint him like one of your French girls, fingers tapping on the ground and OOZING such misplaced confidence and insanity that I can’t NOT love him. D.Va reveals her stash of snack food and plays on her Future GameBoy for a while, completely uninterested in what else is going on. Symmetra’s too pompous and confident to sit on the ground, so she creates a seat for herself out of hard light to sit on instead.

Just. I fucking love this game.

  • what i used to know about alexander hamilton: founding father, on ten dollar bill
  • what i know now: bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor, grew up to be a hero and a scholar, ten-dollar founding father without a father, got a lot farther by working a lot harder, by being a lot smarter, by being a self-starter, there was a million things he hadn't done, left him with nothin’ but ruined pride, another immigrant comin’ up from the bottom, his enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him, just like his country, young, scrappy, and hungry, not throwing away his shot, got a lot of brains but no polish, a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal, only nineteen but his mind was older, sometimes he got over excited, imagined death so much it felt more like a memory, as a kid in the Caribbean he wished for a war, obnoxious, arrogant, loudmouth bother, seated at the right hand of the father, his skill with a quill was undeniable, didn't have a dollar to his name, all he had was his honor, a tolerance for pain, a couple of college credits and a top-notch brain, been livin’ without a family since he was a child he grew up buckwild, he had never been satisfied, penniless, he was flying by the seat of his pants, handsome, boy, did he know it, the tomcat, faced an endless uphill climb, didn't hesitate, exhibited no restraint, he kept winning anyways, he changed the game, played and he raised the stakes, the fact that he was alive was a miracle, he knew what to do in a trench, ingenuitive and fluent in French, no one had more resilience or had so much practical tactical brilliance, had to start a new nation, the man was non-stop, assumed he was the smartest in the room, that attitude may have been his doom, practiced the law, practic’ly perfected it, saw injustice in the world and he corrected it, proposed his own form of government, talked for six hours, always said what he believed, fought like it was going out of style, talked too much, abrasive, wrote the other fifty-one, wrote like tomorrow wouldn't arrive, like he needed it to survive, wrote every second he was alive, immigrant decorated war vet, fought the other founding fathers til he has to forfeit, united the colonies through more debt, treasury secretary, ambition was his folly, a polymath, a pain in the ass, a massive pain, didn't know how to say no, had unprecedented financial power, his pride would be the death of them all, knew nothing of loyalty, desperate to rise above his station, everything he did betrayed the ideals of the nation, quick-witted, keeping them all on their toes, the short-tempered, protean creator of the Coast Guard, founder of the New York Post, creole bastard, out of control, an immigrant embezzling the government funds, had reasons for shame, couldn't seem to die, wrote his way out of hell, louder than the crack in the bell, his prayers to God were met with indifference, wrote his own deliverance, had a torrid affair, never was gon' be president, ruined his own life, did what it took to survive, flew too close to the sun, obsessed with his legacy, paranoid in every paragraph how they perceived him, worked through the unimaginable, arrogant, immigrant, orphan, bastard, whoreson, wouldn't apologize for doing what's right, a soldier with a marksman’s ability, wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone would sing for him, didn't get enough credit for all the credit he gave, eliza told his story.

there is 100% guarantee i will come to regret posting this later but we did advertise shoujo fics and fanart on this blog

so here have some childhood sourins (ノ^ヮ^)ノ*:・゚✧:


“Kisumi!” Rin yelled ecstatically, running towards the pink-haired boy who was standing at the school gates. Sosuke rolled his eyes and followed at a brisk walking pace.

It was a new school year and it hadn’t even been that long since they’d seen Kisumi! Give or take 2 weeks after Kisumi had gone on holiday with his parents. Before that Rin and Sosuke had hung out with Kisumi practically every day.

He’d never admit it if someone asked but sometimes Sosuke was slightly jealous of how much Rin liked Kisumi… but Sosuke was Rin’s first friend and his best friend, so he probably didn’t have anything to worry about… right?

“Kisumi! Kisumi!” Rin was giggling delightfully as he high fived the pink-haired boy who suddenly leaned in and gave Rin a smacking kiss on the cheek. Sosuke gaped.

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Lui ride, lei piange. Lui la illude, lei ci crede. Lui la ignora, lei lo ama. Lei si stanca, lui cambia. Lui torna, lei non c'è. Lui piange, lei ride. Lui ci crede, lei lo illude. Lui la ama, lei lo ignora.
—  The Prayer
When Someone Doesnt Give You Respects (Gifts, Incense, Ritual Bloodletting, Praise Letters, Prayer Bells, Mind Caresses) On Internette

“OHH!!!!!!……….. Sag My Geat……………..”

Softly

Speak to me of better things to come
So as to give me hope.
And paint a picture in my mind
Before my spirit’s broke.
Of ravens perched
In branches of the
Solemn, sleeping pines
As incense wafts high up to greet them
While ringing in the distance
A prayer bell starts to chime.
Use the paintbrush of your voice
And describe an ancient shine
Where prayers coalesce
With cracking walls
And their essence intertwine.

For Memorial Day

Anthem for Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

  What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
–Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
   No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
   What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
   Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

The Thinker, William Orpen, ca. 1918