• Hugh:The Inspector and Miss Fisher had a massive blow-out.
  • Dot:Then it must be Tuesday. Your relationship has stagnated so you find minutiae to fight over.
  • Hugh:Dottie!
  • Dot:Good news is, it's only a matter of time before the Inspector shows up with some unoriginal, spontaneous gesture -
  • *Jack shows up strumming a guitar*
  • Dot:Ugh.

*lightly strums guitar* I’m really tired of having to block minors over this ace discourse… 

*melodic string plucking* but I guess it’s kinda nice (kinda telling) that the ace discourse has literally disappeared from my blog now that I’ve enacted a strict “no fighting with minors” policy 

*pretty chords* so anyway I’m still blocking minors who wanna fight me and not engaging with them, please, if you are under 18, just let it go, realize that I’m not going to respond to your call-out or your discourse or your whatever, I am an adult, I am not here to fight you, that would be terrible of me

anyway here’s wonderwall

Here Comes Thought

 Dipper started to strum the old guitar Grandpa Sherman gave him, remembering the song he once sung to Mabel when she was feeling down.

Here comes a thought
That might alarm you
What someone said and how it harmed you
Something you did that failed to be charming
Things that you said are suddenly swarming

And, oh, you’re losing sight, you’re losing touch
All these little things seem to matter so much
That they confuse you

That I might lose you

Take a moment, remind yourself
To take a moment and find yourself

Take a moment and ask yourself

If this is how we fall apart

But it’s not, but it’s not, but it’s not, but it’s not, but it’s not
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay

You’ve got nothing, got nothing, got nothing, got nothing to fear
I’m here, I’m here, I’m here….”

*strums guitar*


(I’m like in a constant state of being torn between a) wanting post-Bespin Leia to be really quiet and suffer from PTSD like any normal person would and be thin and pale and hard-eyed AND YET b) literally have no hecks left to give and swear a lot and have not a single ounce of sympathy left for any Imperial and basically be a lot less careful and tight with her emotions like she’ll stop playing small things close to her chest 'cause her chest don’t got room for those small things no more, you see, there are such big things pressing down on it, and all the Rogues and stuff’ll be like “damn yes Ma'am” and High Command will be sort of concerned YA FEEL)

(Also, yes, that is his shirt)

the ballad of eva marie and the wwe

once upon a time there was a woman named eva marie

and she wanted to be a wrestler

so she did 

she got on tv really fast

but wasn’t very good at it and she had no friends

but her boss told her she’d make tons of friends because she was pretty!

but it didn’t work

except her boss pretended like she had lots of friends

her boss is an asshole

alright my little lovelings imagine young non-angsty bering and wells (tough i know)

helena spent summer vacation back in england with extended family. they called each other every week but they’re young and in love and that’s never enough. summer waxes and wanes, that telltale little crisp edging in to the early morning weather making promises of autumn to come, and myka wiles away the hours, days, weeks, in her father’s bookshop. while it’s difficult being apart, it isn’t too hard to get wrapped up amidst the overflowing shelves, and that’s why she almost ignores it when her glasses catch a glint of midday sun off a window–until she half glances up and then again, staring now as an airport cab pulls off, leaving behind the one thing in the world that can make myka ophelia bering forget there’s an open book in her hands. 

and she books it (oh pardon the pun) out the door, the bell chiming sharply as it’s thrown open, something awkwardly between a startled bark of a laugh and a squeaked “helena!” bubbling out of her (which she will not hear the end of for days, she’s sure) as she actually jumps into the poor jetlagged girl’s arms and wraps those lanky legs around her waist, clinging tight with the press of a cool cheek and smothering her beneath that veritable mane of curls.

don’t feel too sorry for helena, though–it’s not as though she’s hugging myka any looser, or grinning any less fierce.

anonymous asked:

Would you call Raiden a psychopath?


Shockingly enough, psychopathy isn’t….isn’t a fun descriptor to tack onto characters. It’s a disorder that deserves proper respect and understanding– and I can tell you that Raiden absolutely does not fall under this category.

(whipping out my psych 200s knowledge here, may not be top-notch but it should be decent enough)

Some notable traits of psychopathy are extremely low anxiety and fear response, high assertiveness (especially socially), extremely high self confidence, manipulativeness, disregard for other’s safety, and a notable lack of guilt.

Raiden is literally the opposite of all of these things. He is extremely anxious and easily agitated, he is rather socially meek and easy to discourage, he thinks of himself as the garbage scum of the earth, is manipulated by others constantly, puts literally everyone else’s well being before his own (to the point of disobeying orders in 2 and suicidal action in 4), and is the only MGS protagonist who is actively horrified and remorseful over the deaths he causes. He is able to kill– but only by dissociating– and he is actively aware and concerned about this fact.

While he shares some symptoms (impulsiveness, low empathy, poor judgement, etc etc) there are so many obviously conflicting traits that make it pretty clear that any shared behaviors are the result of something else. We can pretty safely say PTSD is at least a large part of it– and the rest is up to personal interpretation