#whatever man!

[spaghettiandtears]

simon’s fate

[twiggyart6]

Idk. it’s Halloween time. Have a were-creature Spamton :3

[gin-juice-tonic]

Did I tell you guys that my old now retired boss on his last day tried to hit me with the "it'd be nice if you smiled more", but I always wear a mask so he was forced to say "it'd be nice if you didn't wear your mask so much so we can see your smile"

[whirlpool-blogs]

(at 0:45)

Q. For you, so far one-quarter of the way through the season, I don’t know if you knew that -

DB: Now I do 🙂

[lorillee]

kaiji is just such a fun mc for this series because like. very distinctly in the manga he is portrayed kind of like as the dregs of society insofar as you can get without being like morally depraved. hes a gambling addicted neet who has basically no aspirations in life nor motivation to do basically anything if he isnt actively beaten into it and like you can kind of just imagine the type of person he is, but somehow, inexplicably, even though hes more than happy to call hyodo and tonegawa and their ilk essentially demon spawn and a significant amount of the worst things that have happened to him are a result of him sticking his neck out for somebody else and hes been subjected to and witnessed some of the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he's got this completely unshakeable faith in people to do the right thing to choose to care to want to do good in a world that entices them in every single way to do the opposite because its such a core tenant of the person that he is. and like i said before this concept in and of itself is great but really really what sells it is that he actually hates himself for it he hates this part of himself so so much but every single time without fail, even right off the tail of getting thrown under the bus yet again by somebody he stuck his neck out for, even if the only solid evidence he has that people will, despite the terrible circumstances theyve been placed in, choose to do the right thing is himself because everybody around him has failed him, he still chooses kindness even if its for complete and utter strangers who dont even know his name

[mail-me-a-snail]

ADDENDUM BECAUSE I DID NOT THINK ABOUT THE RPF IMPLICATIONS, but now I'm thinking about nonspecific gambling losers in las vegas. The desperation. And there was only one bed.

you have to picture these loser gamblers meeting on the casino floor and trying to out-gamble the other but they just end up watching each other lose more and more money as the hours pass. and then they both meet at a bar to drown their sorrows but seeing how down-and-out the other is only makes them want to gamble more, to win more. so they make a pact that by the end of the night, they should have enough money pooled together to get one big fancy room each—complete with a hot tub and all that jazz—in the nearby hotel. they're gassing each other up with the frantically hopeful smiles of two people who know they're so fucked. dividends, they say. they'll return with enough cash to run this house to the fucking ground.

by the time they stumble back to the bar to meet up again, however, they're exhausted and there's red and black roulette wheels burned into their eyeballs and the cloying sounds of one-armed bandits ringing in their ears. they've only got enough money for the one room, and it isn't even enough for the place they promised they'd go to. instead it's a room in a shitty three star hotel that's a las vegas heritage site only in the way that it's insane how long it's managed to stay open all these years.

they take it because they're both leaving tomorrow still, anyway. they don't have a lot left to lose but time.

they swear, as they go up in the rickety ass elevator, that they're leaving for sure.

one jokes, their eyes watery and red, "you won't gamble away your plane ticket this time, will you?"

they've only met a few hours prior. the other responds like it's the old inside joke they desperately want it to be. "who the hell wants to go to michigan that badly?"

and well. one room with ugly wallpaper. one bed with moth-eaten sheets. two losers who smell like each other because they drank the same thing and lost time and money in the same hell hole.

it's hardly much of a thrill when their clumsy lips find the other's. it isn't so much betting on the odds of their need being reciprocated as it is wanting certainty so badly that they've remembered that that's something only they can have that the numbers inherently cannot.

[milfbro]

you know how bad it is, I downloaded tinder. that's how bad