Tumgik
#but it really stood out to me
myfairkatiecat · 6 months
Text
I feel like Lucy Gray’s fashion sense had an influence on the Capitol. It’s mentioned in the book that she’s wearing makeup, which is notable to Coriolanus and he wonders where she got it from since it was barely becoming accessible again in the Capitol. In the movie one of his classmates mocks what she is wearing, asking if she thinks she’s a clown. It isn’t common to dress like her, but she owns her own style and the Capitol LOVES her. Coriolanus, as he tries to get sponsors for her, makes the case that since she is Covey perhaps she isn’t really district at all, in fact she’s really more Capitol than anything… and perhaps it rubbed off. Perhaps her sense of extra-ness, her fun makeup even at the reaping, her colorful dress at a dark occasion….perhaps that’s one part of her legacy that never truly goes away, even when the name of Lucy Gray Baird is erased from the memories of the people of Panem.
1K notes · View notes
crows-home · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
more funny things that happened on my first watch of nimona
ID by @peachygos
[ID: A comic juxtaposing screenshots from Nimona 2023 and drawn panels of two people on a couch, one wearing a cap and the other glasses. First is Ballister kneeling in front of the Queen, as she says "Congratulations, Sir Boldheart." Cap says, "OK!! Calling it right now! Queen's gonna die & they're gonna think he did it." Glasses says, "You think?" Cap continues, "Yup! Said in the summary that he's accused of a tragedy. They're gonna find her stabbed w/ his sword by the morning. Maybe during a party or smth." Glasses says, "Hm... Maybe-"
The second image shows just the two on the couch, washed in green light from the screen as the Queen dies. They look at the screen in gaping shock, then at each other.
The next screenshot is of Ballister clutching at his shoulder with a grunt of pain. Both people lean forward in focus. Glasses says, "Wait- did he cut off his whole arm-?" Cap says, "No! Nah, he just knocked the sword out of his hand, I think. Maybe his shoulder got hurt & he's holding his arm back?" Glasses says, "Dude I don't think-"
The final screenshot is a continuation of the previous shot, the camera zooming out to show Ballister clutching his shoulder, and his severed arm laying in the foreground. Both characters silently watch the screen in shock. Glasses gasps and covers their mouth with their hand. /end ID]
17K notes · View notes
jangmi-latte · 19 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
guys as much as i love rook's biceps...i just really really love his nose it's so pretty and straight and it's perfect...look at that bridge? that dorsum's so straight i wanna run my finger on it while he's sleeping. what i love about yana's artstyle that even down to the noses there are differences. vil's nose got a little curve down the dorsum and epel got a button nose and i just...i'm in love with rook's nose and no wonder that reporter said rook looks handsome enough to stand beside vil bECAUSE HIS NOSE IS FUCKING PERFECT
345 notes · View notes
wanologic · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
been playing the classics
891 notes · View notes
lansangprincess · 1 month
Text
i dont know how i can forgive the writers for giving me "you're my too much" from Darren in S1 for them to then say "the world can't always follow your rules" in S2 😔
259 notes · View notes
Text
This is an analysis of Kaveh and Alhaitham’s argument posted on the Port Ormos bulletin board!! Because it is crazy actually!!
I think this exchange of theirs out of the three posted throughout Sumeru is particularly interesting, and this is due Alhaitham openly expressing that Kaveh does not understand what Alhaitham is really trying to say to him: “I have never denied what you meant, but you don’t understand what I am saying to you at all.”
Tumblr media Tumblr media
This exchange is relevant in various ways in exploring the motif of communication. As according to their usual rapport, the two disagree over their differing philosophies, as in sensibility versus rationality, however, Alhaitham’s particular concerns in Kaveh spending his money on “nonsense” highlights the underlying reason for this exchange. From this comment, the argument is recontextualised through Alhaitham’s intention for getting involved, as Kaveh prompts the workmen to take his money in order to help them out.
When Alhaitham states that this is a meaningless action due to the inevitability of people rising or falling on their own accord, rather than solely critiquing Kaveh’s “impulsiv[e]” altruism, as Kaveh interprets, Alhaitham is directly contradicting his own comment – as he is interfering on Kaveh’s decisions.
As concern is evidently the intention behind his interference, Kaveh cannot perceive this, and instead attempts to critique Alhaitham’s perspective in return, although Alhaitham states: “Make no mistake. I have never denied what you meant…” This response asserts that Alhaitham does not deny, but rather agrees with, Kaveh’s statement of “mutual assistance, fairness, and righteous anger” driving the world.
In lieu of this, rather than continuing the argument, Alhaitham claims that there is no point to it, as Kaveh does not understand what he is saying, as in, Kaveh does not understand that his intentions in interfering are out of concern. He follows this up, regardless, by criticising Kaveh’s handling of his budget, as, evidently, Kaveh has offered to give his own money to these workmen, and refuses to pay for Kaveh’s drinks for that month.
For Alhaitham, Kaveh’s lack of self-prioritisation leads him to impulsive altruistic acts which serve to jeopardise his own position, particularly regarding money. If Kaveh can afford to give away money, he can afford to pay his own tabs, is the takeaway from this exchange. Although, similarly to the exchange between them posted in Puspa’s Café, this applies to one particular month, insinuating that Alhaitham will continue to pay for next month’s tabs of his own accord.
The main argument, as well as the disagreement over the speaker of Kaveh’s quote, serves as a humorous exchange, but as a motif for communication it acquires a new meaning. The two hold perspectives which contrast the other which puts them on unequal footing, demonstrated within the argument over the speaker of Kaveh’s quote. Although it is not disclosed who is actually in the right, both are convinced of their respective viewpoint. There is an element missing here, a potential solution to this problem, and it lies within the idea of “correctness” established within A Parade of Providence.
The omission of there being an objective, correct answer to this particular debate serves as a parallel to their conflicting viewpoints, with the basis of their exchange being to “prove” to the other their “correctness” – here, it is in regard to Kaveh.
However, “correctness” being the basis of their exchange, and thus, relationship, is challenged with Alhaitham shutting down the initial debate due to Kaveh’s misunderstanding of his meaning. Correctness, then, and its importance, is called into question within this exchange, with Kaveh being the one to chase it; his last message being that he would “prove” himself to be right.
At the core of this bulletin board exchange is the idea that Alhaitham harbours an alternative ‘meaning’ than the one that Kaveh assigns to him: “… you don’t understand what I’m saying to you at all.” This is a meaning which Kaveh cannot perceive due to his current understanding of Alhaitham. This represents the standing of their current relationship, where Kaveh believes Alhaitham holds him in disdain, although this belief is incongruous with Alhaitham’s actions which show his care for Kaveh.
In these instances of communication through the Bulletin Boards, it is interesting to note that Kaveh is revealed to have been drunk and “scribbling” on these notice boards, and hopes that Alhaitham does not know.
Tumblr media
Although this is a humorous detail, it adds another layer to the unreliability of their method of communication, as Kaveh has no recollection of these exchanges with Alhaitham, and therefore could not have properly interpreted Alhaitham due to an altered state of mind. It is uncertain whether Alhaitham is aware of Kaveh’s being drunk whilst responding to him, or whether he is believed to have been lucid, which creates another element of unreliability in their exchanges.
Alhaitham understands Kaveh’s thinking and the reasons for why he acts as he does, but he cannot articulate his concern in a way that Kaveh will understand, both out of Kaveh’s incapability of receiving goodwill, but also due to his logical manner of expression. Kaveh perceives Alhaitham’s concealed expressions of concern as personal gripes and criticisms of his beliefs, and therefore believes that their relationship is based on the scholarly principle of proving the validity of one’s philosophies.
The Port Ormos Bulletin Board reinforces the core essence of their relationship: Alhaitham is invested in a personal regard, whereas Kaveh cannot see this due to his perception of Alhaitham and Alhaitham’s inability to communicate in a way Kaveh would understand.
(Update: For more analyses like this, the essay this is taken from is now uploaded! It can be accessed here and here as as a pdf <3)
183 notes · View notes
zb1s · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
PARK GUNWOOK ➬ JELLY POP
730 notes · View notes
annebrontesrequiem · 1 year
Text
Also Brennan Lee Mulligan is obviously wonderful at voice acting - the range of accents and tones he can do is stunning. But also I just want to point out how amazing his expressions are too. He really knows how to do these very subtle acting choices within his facial expressions that convey really an immense amount of characterization/character context. And I just think that's kind of amazing. Really truly talented person
717 notes · View notes
micamicster · 2 months
Text
Super Rich Kids
Close my eyes and feel the crash...
I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!
When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.
Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.
As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.
Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.
Ronan looked away.
Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.
This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.
For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.
Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.
He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.
Adam shifted next to him, subtly.
“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”
“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”
“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.
“I know I can.”
“But?”
“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.
Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.
Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.
“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”
“That was for your shitty aim.”
“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”
“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”
Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”
Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).
Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”
Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.
Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.
Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”
Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”
Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.
“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”
“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).
They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.
“Bullshit. Bullshit.”
“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”
“It wasn’t even close! You—”
“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.
“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”
“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.
Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”
Ronan was not allowed knives.
~
“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”
“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.
Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.
Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”
Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.
Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.
“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.
Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.
Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”
Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.
“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”
Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”
There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”
“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.
“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”
“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”
Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”
“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”
~
Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.
Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.
As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.
“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”
“And your condition is shit.”
There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.
“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.
“My dad loves it.”
They marched on in silence.
Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.
Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”
“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.
“No.”
Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.
“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”
Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”
Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”
The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”
95 notes · View notes
codgod · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
rebirth
389 notes · View notes
asexual-levia-tan · 5 months
Text
its tragic that newcomers who've only played nightbringer only know satan as the "i'll never give you to anyone else" guy from his first nb spotlight event instead of the guy who's always the first one to be like "we can all share the mc. everyone, line up" which is way funnier in every single way
139 notes · View notes
mishy-mashy · 8 days
Text
Y'know, I was originally gonna just put this down and leave,
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And then I thought, they really gave Kudo and Bakugo the same eyes, man.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And then I started going through more panels of Bakugo.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And a lot of it looks like things Kudo actually would do and look like when he was alive?
Then- Then there's also this, about being equals with others, and,
Tumblr media Tumblr media
HE REALLY DOES RESEMBLE KUDO???
(No wonder AFO lost it, man)
54 notes · View notes
thisisntreaver · 3 months
Text
*head in my hands* reaver just has sparrows dogs collar??? He's just kept that??? He canonically has possession of something their faithful companion wore always?????? Something they likely would have kept themselves?????
78 notes · View notes
a-sketchy · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
after some 60-odd hours i’ve become desensitized to it but goddamn i sure named myself babygirl shitass
65 notes · View notes
yakysanny · 10 months
Text
Listening to this noise Usopp makes over and over again because my boy didn't get enough lines in the trailer
191 notes · View notes
moibakadesu · 3 months
Text
I have been rotating one of Haruka's lines from the earphone collab in my brain for a while now, because it stood out to me as very important.
And that would be the line in which he apologizes to Amane in a very distressed and tearful voice.
So, Yamanaka had mentioned that these lines are important to canon or "critical to uncover the secrets of the prisoners", which is also why I think they made sure that they are not hidden behind a paywall, you can read up on all of them on the website of the collab.
And I think this line gives us hints for things to come in t3.
//cw for the topics of suicide and Milgram-typical violence
Alright, so let's assume that the restrictions of the guilty prisoners don't work the way we imagine. For context, I always assumed that they are not physically bound (after all they still have to eat, use the bathroom etc), but it's more of a emotional barrier that keeps them from inflicting violence or defending themselves. But we never got a confirmation on that, this is just what I combined by observation, but it might as well just be that they consider the longer straps (and in some cases sleeves) as restriction, which is ... well, that is not something that is stopping someone with the intent to kill, that is for sure.
So I would say we are all terribly aware about Haruka's threat of suicide. But I think his plan might have changed a bit, he had a long time to ruminate about it after all. And he clearly does not want to die (AKAA even has the lyrics "I don't want to die" translated as "Don't wipe me out", but we are all aware how scuffed the translation for that song is). His conversation with Kotoko on her birthday already made me rise an eyebrow. My first assumption was that he is planning a murder-suicide with Muu, in a way to safe her both from being scared in Milgram and from being alone when he is gone.
But what if he came up with a third option? An option that would show he is serious without destroying the time with his mother. (I still think Muu won't want to hang out with him anymore in t3, but that is beside the question here.) Our blue boy once stated that "he can kill anything that is smaller and weaker than him", and who fits that description the most in the prison and also has a bit of an overlap with his presumed victim? Amane.
An important detail is, that Amane is a prisoner that Haruka had no interaction with whatsoever. He does mention her, in his t1 VD explaining that he is not good with children of her age and in the t2 VD that he apparently does not have problems with her anymore. Still, he seemed to (understandably) always keep his distance from her.
So why of all things does he get a line in this collab addressing her directly? It doesn't feel like a "sorry I'm not interacting with you" kinda line, it's very pained, you can feel the tears in his voice there.
And this lead me to think that Haruka will attempt to attack Amane, which ... oh boy, it will be all kinds of messy. We know Amane is armed, even with the overwhelming strength disadvantage she could easily stab him with her scissors in a death-struggle. Not to mention the conflicts that will bring among the prisoners (I don't even want to think about how that could sour how Fuuta thinks about Haruka tremendously).
And it would be a very interesting turn story wise, instead of going the way too obvious and telegraphed path of Haruka attempting to kill himself and Amane planning an attack on Shidou etc.
It would also be a very mean and ironic way to repeat Haruka's misery (I am crying), getting abandoned by Es/us and very possible his second mother Muu and trying to change things by taking the life of a young girl.
63 notes · View notes