#mostly sad

I just genuinely fucken hate that.

The premise of a city run on religion and racism up in the sky trying to be closer to God to juxtapose Rapture attempting to be a capitalist all-kinds-welcome utopia away from moral judgement and ran exclusively on the idea of "no gods here only men"

And not exploring that?? Why both are failed? Why both suffer the same problems??

But instead time loops, girl in a tower and the age old question of "would u kill baby hitler if u went back in time?"

Bioshock is probably the coolest ip ever, but damn kinda missed it a bit with this one.

Felt like we lined up a perfect t off and then decided to touch the arcane and spend the last hour in an alternate universe courting a girl who isn't really the person you know for the benefit of finding a way to kill a man who thinks hes god and ultimately reset the chain of events.

Anya in hungarian means Mother

Not Just a Driver, Not Just a Memory—But a Heart That Races Within Us, Then, Now, Always

In the high-speed world of Formula 1, where victories and rivalries often dominate the headlines, there is one name that continues to echo in the hearts of fans and drivers alike—Jules Bianchi. His journey was one of promise, determination, and pure talent, a journey tragically cut short by a cruel twist of fate. But even in death, his memory refuses to fade. Jules Bianchi deserves our respect, not just because of the tragic accident that took his life, but because of the incredible legacy he left behind—a legacy of courage, humility, and an unwavering love for the sport. His story is one of triumph over adversity, and even now, as years pass, his impact is still felt in every corner of the Formula 1 world.

Jules Bianchi was a rising star in Formula 1, known for his exceptional skill and maturity far beyond his years. His talent was undeniable, and his presence on the track was a breath of fresh air in a sport dominated by well-established drivers. But a fateful crash at the Japanese Grand Prix in 2014 left him fighting for his life, and ultimately, he passed away in 2015. Despite his life being tragically cut short, the respect he earned during his time in motorsport has only grown over time, and his legacy continues to inspire.

Jules Bianchi’s legacy is not just a memory, it’s a testament to the respect he continues to deserve—respect earned through his exceptional driving, his integrity, and the way he touched the lives of everyone he met, both on and off the track. His name should never fade from the world of motorsport, because his influence still shapes the sport and the people in it.

Jules Bianchi was more than just a promising driver—his exceptional talent was deserving of respect even after his passing. His performances on the track showcased his skill, and his potential was undeniable. What stands out to me, however, is not just his ability to drive, but the way he carried himself off the track. In the videos and pictures I've seen of him, there’s an undeniable charm—his sweet smile that could light up the screen. He wasn’t just a talented driver; he had a warmth to his character that was clear even through the lens of a camera. He had a softness about him that made him not only stand out as a driver but also as a person. I’ve always admired the way he seemed to carry an inner peace, almost as if his calmness on the track was mirrored by the way he smiled in photographs. In a sport as demanding as Formula 1, where the drivers often seem wrapped in intensity, Jules’s seemingly ability to balance fierce competition with genuine kindness is something that speaks volumes about the person he was. His smile, simple yet powerful, reflected a humility and an inner beauty that will never fade, and that’s one of the many reasons I believe he deserves lasting respect—both for his talent and the grace he showed to the world.

I once asked, "Is it normal to feel irrationally angry and sad whenever I hear the name Jules Bianchi? Because every time I do, I want to cry, and it just ruins my whole day. I just wish he was able to be here and winning more championships. And I just, I don't know, I feel angry because they should have stopped. But I don't know what I'm feeling, so can you help me understand?" One user, @redfacedpalindrome, responded in a way that resonated deeply with me. They said, "I don't wanna overstep but I really understand. By the time I became an F1 fan, Jules was no longer driving—and yet, I feel like I still grieve the fact that he could and should have been here. There's always something about young people not being able to live out their dreams that hurts, and it SHOULD hurt, especially when we talk about young drivers in F1. I can distinctly make out the emotion of it hurting and me missing him, despite the fact I never saw him drive live.”

Even though it was my birthday the day before Jules Bianchi passed away, I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of sadness and guilt. He died on July 17th, and every time I think about it, I cry. How can I feel joy knowing that, for his family, his friends, and his godson, Charles Leclerc, that day was one of the most devastating in their lives? I feel as though my happiness on my own birthday somehow contrasts with the grief they must have been experiencing. And I think it's guilt that I feel—the guilt of knowing how tragic that day was for those who loved him.

Their, @redfacedpalindrome, words struck a chord with me, and I realized that this pain isn't irrational—it's a reflection of the void left behind when someone so talented was taken too soon. The grief of Jules Bianchi's loss is not just for what he could have accomplished but also for the opportunity that was denied to him. Suzuka will always stand as a reminder that he should still be on the grid, that his future was tragically cut short.

Another user agreed with @redfacedpalindrome, emphasizing how the FIA shifted blame onto Jules, which only deepens the never-ending grief and mourning surrounding his death. This response made me so incredibly angry because Jules had already suffered so much. While the crane was removing Adrian Sutil’s Sauber, Jules Bianchi, driving his Marussia, came by just a lap later. Unfortunately, he aquaplaned at the exact same spot on the track where Sutil had crashed. The trajectory of his car took him directly into the rear of the crane.

The impact was devastating—it ripped the roll hoop off the Marussia, and Jules’s helmet struck the heavy rear part of the crane. While his helmet didn’t break open, he was knocked unconscious immediately. He was quickly extricated and rushed to the hospital, where he underwent emergency surgery to drain blood from around his brain. The injury was caused by a sudden deceleration, which can cause damage to the brain in two ways: first, by breaking blood vessels, leading to bleeding in the brain (such as an epidural or subdural hemorrhage), or second, by causing a diffuse axonal injury, which was the type of injury identified by the doctors attending to Jules.

Jules did not deserve to suffer this crash, endure a nine-month coma, and ultimately lose his life for the FIA to shift the blame onto him. Because it was their fault.The race should have been red-flagged the moment conditions worsened and Sutil crashed. Instead. They kept going in unsafe conditions, in heavy rain with poor visibility. A recovery vehicle was allowed on track without a safety car—something that should never happen in Formula 1, especially under wet conditions where aquaplaning is more than just a possibility; it’s a deadly risk. Jules didn’t crash due to recklessness or error—he crashed because he was put in a position where safety protocols failed him. The FIA failed him. They ignored the danger, prioritized continuing the race, and sent a young man into an environment where survival depended on chance. And when it went wrong, instead of owning up to their mistakes, they tried to distance themselves from the blame. That’s why it hurts so much. Jules deserved safety, not scapegoating, and it infuriates me that after everything he went through, this is how he’s remembered by the organization that should have been protecting him.

One of the most significant and lasting impacts Jules Bianchi had on Formula 1 was the way his tragic accident brought about vital changes to the sport’s safety protocols. His crash at the 2014 Japanese Grand Prix highlighted the stark need for further protections in motorsport, and while the Halo device, a curved titanium which is structured above the driver’s head in the cockpit, was introduced after his death, it raised the difficult question of why such a safety feature wasn’t implemented sooner. Before Jules, the last Formula 1 fatality was that of Ayrton Senna in 1994, nearly 20 years earlier. Despite the long gap, the sport had failed to introduce sufficient measures to protect drivers from head injuries, a vulnerability that ultimately led to Jules’s death.

In the wake of Bianchi’s accident, the FIA (Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile)(ENGLISH: International Automobile Federation) was forced to confront the harsh reality of the risks drivers faced every day. As a result, they introduced the Halo device, a protective structure designed to shield drivers from head injuries during accidents. This device, though controversial at first, has been credited with saving lives since its implementation, including protecting Charles Leclerc in a terrifying crash during the 2018 Belgian Grand Prix. Jules’s tragic fate became a turning point in the sport, highlighting the need for change.

But the question remains—why did it take the loss of another driver to spark this change? While the introduction of the Halo was a positive step forward, it should have come much earlier. The technology existed, and the need was clear. Bianchi's death could have been prevented if the FIA had taken earlier, more decisive action to prioritize driver safety. The sport mourned the loss of a promising young talent, but his death forced F1 to confront its responsibility to protect those who risk their lives in pursuit of victory.

The aftermath of Jules Bianchi’s accident changed the Formula 1 landscape forever. In the years following, safety innovations accelerated, and discussions about driver protection became central to the sport’s agenda. Jules’s tragic legacy lives on not only in the memories of those who loved him but also in the continued push for improved safety in F1, ensuring that future generations of drivers will be better protected on the track.

The tragedy of Jules Bianchi’s story lies not just in the manner of his passing, but in the promise and potential he represented. He was a young driver with the world at his feet, a talented and passionate competitor who had the skill to take on Formula 1’s biggest challenges. He was just beginning to make his mark when his life was cut short in the most devastating of ways. The unfairness of it all is striking—how could someone so full of promise, someone with the ability to achieve great things, be taken from the world so suddenly?

Jules was just 25, a young man with so much life ahead of him. It feels incredibly unfair because he should still be here, with a future full of possibilities—he could have had the chance to get married, start a family, and experience the many milestones that life has to offer. But fate, in its cruel and twisted sense of humor, robbed him of all those opportunities, cutting his life short before he had the chance to fulfill his dreams.

What makes his loss even more painful is the fact that it was avoidable. His crash at Suzuka could have been prevented with better safety measures in place. It is a cruel reminder of how fragile life is, and how even those with the greatest futures can be snatched away by a momentary accident. The loss of Jules not only robbed Formula 1 of a bright talent but also robbed the world of a young man who had so much to give.

For his family, friends, and fans, the grief is profound. His death serves as a reminder that no one is invincible, that even those who seem destined for greatness are not immune to fate’s cruel hand. And yet, his story isn’t just about loss. It’s also about the resilience of the human spirit—the way his memory has continued to inspire and the way the sport has worked to improve safety in his honor. Even in death, Jules Bianchi’s legacy is powerful, a reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing those we love and the moments we have.

But it is this very unfairness, the fact that someone with such a bright future was taken so suddenly, that continues to haunt those who remember him. Every year, when Formula 1 takes to the tracks, the absence of Jules is still felt. His potential, his ambition, and the very human nature of his story are what make his death so heartbreaking.

Jules Bianchi’s story is a haunting reminder of what could have been—of the laughter, the love, the life he should have lived. His absence is not just a gap in the world of Formula 1, but in the hearts of everyone who admired him. It is the silence where there should have been more victories, more celebrations, and more moments of triumph. In the end, it’s not just his talent we mourn—it’s the man, the son, the friend, and the dreamer that we will never see become all he could have been.

The echo of his name lingers like a bittersweet melody, a song of unfulfilled potential that plays softly in the hearts of those who remember him. In the stillness of the night, we can almost hear the roar of his engine, the thrill of his spirit, and the warmth of his smile. Yet all that remains is the absence, the endless question of what might have been, what he could have achieved, and how many lives he might have touched had fate not been so cruel.

We will never get to see him cross the finish line of life, to see his dreams unfold the way they were meant to. But we carry his memory with us, the spark of his ambition still alive in the way we remember him—not as a victim of fate, but as a symbol of what it means to live fully, to love deeply, and to chase after greatness, no matter the obstacles. And as the years pass, his memory will continue to burn bright, a flame that will never die.

In the hearts of those who loved him, in the whispers of the wind that blows through the paddock, Jules Bianchi’s spirit lives on. Not in the headlines, but in the quiet moments of reflection, in the respect and admiration that lingers long after the track has cleared. His story may have ended too soon, but his legacy—his heart—will forever remain.

Jules Bianchi should have been here, should have been driving in Ferrari red, his dream finally realized. Picture him now, racing side by side with Charles Leclerc, his godson, under the iconic prancing horse. Their bond, a deep connection built on family, would have been more than just symbolic—it would have been the heart of Ferrari itself. Jules, the rising star, and Charles, the next-generation hero, united on the track, both chasing the same dream they had shared since childhood.

The thought of it is heartbreaking—how different it could have been. Jules, standing proudly in the garage, his name now written in Ferrari history, sharing moments of victory and defeat with Charles, the two of them inspiring the world together. They would have been a force, a story of legacy, youth, and family intertwining in the red of Ferrari, a team Jules had always dreamed of. How he would have laughed, how he would have shared his joy with Charles, knowing the journey they both took together was one for the history books.

Instead, we are left wondering what might have been. We will never see Jules in the iconic Ferrari overalls, never hear his name called alongside Charles as they stand together on the podium. And Charles, forever marked by Jules's absence, will continue to race with a piece of his godfather with him. But we can only imagine what could have been—a future filled with triumphs, shared glances, and the joy of having Jules’s presence felt in Ferrari’s red for years to come. It’s a loss not just for Formula 1, but for their family, for all of us who were robbed of the chance to see these two incredible drivers share that moment. And as Charles carries on his journey, we can only hope that somewhere, somehow, Jules is looking down with pride—his dream now lived through the godson he left behind.

He should have been talked about with reverence, with awe, the way we speak about drivers who climbed to greatness. He didn’t get the time to reach his peak, but he was on that path, and anyone who paid attention should have known it. He didn’t need to win a world title to deserve respect. He earned it through the way he drove, the way he carried himself, the way he made people feel. There was something about Jules—something different. Something genuine. In a sport that can sometimes feel mechanical and detached, Jules looked like he brought heart. He brought kindness. He would have brought a human soul to a machine-driven world. And just because that soul was taken too soon doesn’t mean we’re allowed to forget it.

Because in the end, it always comes back to Jules. And that’s the thing that keeps eating away at me, every single time I hear his name or see someone mention him like a whisper in a crowded room. Jules Bianchi should be respected. Still. Always. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when someone brings up safety regulations. Not just when the Halo comes up in a race broadcast. No. His name shouldn’t be treated like a footnote, or a painful anecdote, or something we remember only when tragedy forces us to. He should have been more than that crash. He should have been more than that moment. He should have been a full, long story. A champion. A mentor. A legend. A young, warm, incredibly talented driver with hopes and dreams and a future so bright that everyone should have seen it—even if they barely followed the sport.

I’m so angry at how easily people forget. At how casually his name gets skipped over in conversations. How quickly the sport moved on to the next rising star, the next young talent, while the memory of Jules—what he was, what he should have been—just drifts further and further into the background. Why does that happen? Why is it that people only whisper his name when tragedy is mentioned, but not when we celebrate what makes this sport beautiful? Because Jules was part of that beauty. He should have been essential to it. He should have given more. And it’s infuriating to think that his story is treated like a closed chapter just because he didn’t get to write the rest of it. He didn’t deserve to be forgotten.

He should have been the driver people looked at and said, "That one—he’s going places." He should have had the chance to prove it. He should have stood on podiums. He should have driven for Ferrari. He should have raced side by side with Charles Leclerc, not just watched over him from a place no one was ready for him to go. And the world took that away. Life took that away. And yet, somehow, people act like the respect stopped when the race ended. I don’t care how many years go by. Jules deserves his name to be said with pride, not just sadness. He deserves tributes, passion, emotion. He deserves people to still say his name the way they say the names of the greats—because he should have been one. And I think, deep down, everyone knows it.

We owe him that much. Not because it’s our job, but because it’s the right thing to do. Because he mattered. Because he still matters. Because he left behind a legacy not written in trophies but in emotion, in heartbreak, in change, in memory. And no matter what, I will keep saying his name. Loudly. Fiercely. Because Jules Bianchi deserved more. And even though the world didn’t give it to him, at least not anymore, we can at least give him this: our respect. Always.

"An angel in the form of a human, whose sweetness seemed to shine through every smile, every gesture, and every word." — Unknown

This quote strikes such a deep chord when I think about Jules Bianchi, even though I never truly knew him. From the photos and videos I've seen, he gave off an aura of kindness and warmth—like someone who had a sweetness to them that was hard to miss. He looked like the type of person who would light up a room with his presence, someone who exuded both humility and genuine joy. His smile, which could soften even the toughest of moments, made it clear that he was not just a talented driver, but someone who cared deeply about the world around him.

The sorrow in this comes from knowing that this sweet soul, someone who appeared to carry so much goodness, was taken from us far too soon. Jules had so much potential, and it’s heartbreaking to think that the world will never fully get to experience the depth of who he was. We only got a glimpse of his character, but it’s enough to feel the loss so deeply. I may not have known him personally, but I still wish I had. And that wish, that feeling of missing someone you never truly got to know, makes his passing all the more painful. It's as if the world lost not just a rising star, but a person whose sweetness could have touched even more lives.

Jules didn’t just lose his life that day; the world lost everything he was meant to be. That unfulfilled potential is the heaviest of all burdens, one that will haunt us as long as we remember him.

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: World of Warcraft Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore & Anduin Wrynn Characters: Jaina Proudmoore, Anduin Wrynn, Khadgar (Warcraft), Mathias Shaw Additional Tags: Conversations, blame, Loss, Silence Summary:

Me, nervous af already and scared of what she's going to say - "sexual? lol oh thanks, but I've known for like a decade now hahahaha...."

My psychiatrist - "... excuse me, bipolar depressive."