#I don’t understand people like them

[bitchapalooza]

I think I’ve mentioned it on here before but I had a friend last year who went to the Alcatraz East crime museum with me for my bday and the fact they called several serial killers hot was a red flag I should’ve processed sooner than later bc wth 💀

[rogueshadeaux]

“I hate the script, the vault dwellers sound so cheesy—“ my Brother in Steel you realize that’s the point, right? They were bred to act like the physical embodiment of an HR e-mail. Did you not catch the memo that Vault-Tec put out regarding their experiment facilities?

[spitedemon]

i really don’t think it’s “typical dragon age fandom nonsense” for people to be genuinely upset about the world state choices. combat, level design, art direction, gameplay gimmicks, those have all varied across each dragon age game. the one thing that’s remained constant are nods to our previous choices.

i wasn’t expecting my HoF to come riding in on a griffon, but i can’t find a monument dedicated to warden tabris somewhere around the anderfels? lucanis couldn’t have some lines about the time that one arainai boy was stirring up trouble in antiva city? you’re gonna tell me that making a mage the new divine wouldn’t have some impact on nevarra and antiva? on the anderfels, the supposed most devout militant andrastian nation in thedas? you’re saying nobody in the north is paying attention to who rules orlais or ferelden? come on.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[blacklegsanjienthusiast]

the scene in wano when sanji calls out for robin asking her to help him means so much to me. this is a man whose father looked him in the eyes when he was just a child asking for help when he was hurt and asked him “why should i?”, a man who had it ingrained in him that he didn’t deserve help and when he asked for it wouldn’t come, a lesson learnt the hard way in that dungeon. needing help is a sign of weakness and the last thing he was allowed to be was weak. sanji allowing himself to ask for help when he needs it really is a testimony to how far he has come, both since his childhood and since whole cake island. he knows it isn’t weak to ask for help and he knows, with absolute certainty, that when he calls his crew will answer. he goes from a child whose pleas were ignored to a man whose family will be there for him in a heartbeat. and on robins end, the fact that sanji trusts her so whole heartedly means so much to her and god they mean so much to me as a duo

[bottombaron]

oh ok so its the usual no-homo bullshit you always hear, good to know.

[sunnibits]

potentially hot take but this is a pet peeve of mine

[ladyofthevalley]

People who don’t understand the Arya and Sansa sibling bond obviously didn’t have WWE style brawls in the middle of the living room floor with their sibling.

You can hate each other, say heinous things, full on battle until first blood.

But you’re still siblings,

all the Arya-antis and Sansa-antis are placing too much weight on the events of kings landing.

[adhd-languages]

When someone speaks a foreign language in public and I’m desperately trying not to stare like I’m sorry I’m not racist I just desperately want to hear the different vowel sounds you’re making. sorry.

[scholarhect]

lowkey i think people overpathologize cam’s whole thing, i think generally she’s reacting rationally, or at least about as well as you can ask from a person, to some really difficult stuff. like excuse her for acting weird when she was processing the very young death of the person she thought she was going to spend her life with, in an unfamiliar and unstable environment far from home, where her entire support system was a hypocritical dying woman she’d never meshed very well with and coronabeth tridentarius

[dreamyintersexouppy]

all the tme intersex people i used to know suddenly jumping on the newest transmisogynistic bandwagon and immediately spewing all the same “ur just overreacting, you call everything transmisogyny, stop being hysterical!!!” bullshit really puts into perspective how the intersex community on here gained any traction to begin with, y’all are not immune to pulling the same bullshit perisex people do and you’re calling the intersex transfems arguing against you perisex??? just to let afabs pretend to be us so you have that idealized quiet trans woman again, like i’m sorry but this is a strawman on par with “white trans woman” nothing has changed and at some point you need to realize that your conception of what these terms mean just doesn’t reflect their actual rhetorical use in real conversations about queerness

[dykedvonte]

Honestly a sorry from Curly would mean nothing to Anya.

I’m not saying she wouldn’t want to hear it, it’s a hollow vindication. She told him and he couldn’t hear her. He saw it and he couldn’t understand it. They both experienced it and he should apologize that it took that for him to get it. She already knows he’s sorry but what’s the point if neither of them can do anything about it? It’s earnest but at the same time what she wants an apology for is what Curlu can’t apologize for.

He can’t be sorry for what happened to her even if he is. Even if he carries that guilt with him until the day he dies it’s not all his to bare. The most heinous parts aren’t his weight even if he tries to balance it. A part of her bitterness is the fact he can’t be sorry for it all. She can’t just direct it all towards him even if she wants to. She was failed in so many ways by all of them. It hurts with him the most cause he had the power but they all did nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The one person who should apologize would never and could never, it’s not something you can be sorry for. She wants an apology, she needs one but what would it fix?

[amethystaegis]

If you hate ANY of the BG3 companions you’re wrong <3

They’re all wonderful and the best in their own unique ways

[lovelywaterbuffaloes]

[amethysttribble]

Father had personally asked Feanor to stand for this portrait, so he was. Father had quietly suggested that perhaps this could be a painless exercise, which did not actually mean ‘painless’ but rather ‘silent’ for Feanor, but he agreed. Father told him this painting did not symbolize anything but his own desire to have a record of all his available loved ones around him, and Feanor was trying to see it that way- for the sake of his own sanity.

Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.

Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.

To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.

When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-

You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.

He was so still and he dared not move, because if he did, he’d never get back in place. If Feanor flinched once, the sharp, jagged pieces of him that never fit right in this puzzle would scratch one of them. They’d be annoyed and that would be it: he’d combust in anger, he’d shatter across the floor, snapping and snarling at everyone unnecessarily until he ruined their perfect little scene. Father said this might be a painless exercise. No, no; this was to be a silent, still exercise.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

How good a painter was this person Father hired? How varied his faces? Would he capture that Feanor’s nose resembled that of none of the people here? Could he represent that his frame was already different from his father and little half-brother’s?

Would he lie and throw a pleased smile on Feanor’s face? Not even Father had asked him to smile.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s presence made them fit together so symmetrically, maybe that was pleasing enough to hide the wrongness of this scene. Maybe that’s why Father made him come here today, the pretty scene. Why he asked him to suffer, even as the longer he stood here, the more and more Feanor felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

A ghost, a ghost, there was a ghost looming over their shoulders ruining this perfectly symmetrical scene. Couldn’t they feel her breathing down their necks, icy chill against sweat? Didn’t their perfectly posed heads feel her long, clever fingers wrapped lovingly around their necks?

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s gaze slipped down to the back of Indis’s head. Her beautiful golden hair. She didn’t wear a crown, this was a family portrait, and that felt worse. So much worse.

If he let his eyes unfocus and his mind wander, he could try to lie to himself that her hair was much lighter and the faces of the children around them more closely resembled his own. The woman in front of him loved him, and she fussed over his hair before they sat for this portrait, and he’d let her do it.

The worst part was Feanor did know that Indis would help him with the ties of his robes, if only he let her.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

She’s not, she’s not, she’s not. It was a simple statement of fact. It was scandal enough that the father replaced the wife, when one at least chose a wife, but what freak replaced his own mother?

What would the people who saw this portrait think? Would they see Finwe’s happy family or would they see Feanor’s blaring, uncomfortable intrusion upon what gods and men declared to be a better order of things? Father wanted him to belong here, but he didn’t.

He just didn’t.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

A painless exercise. Painless, painless, painless, for them. Silent, still Feanor, a happy accessory to the triumphant union of Finwe and Indis, a grateful stray dog permitted to drink from the bowls provided by Indis’s family.

This exercise was just meant to capture the image of all Finwe loved, nothing more. Don’t think too hard about it, Feanor. You might make the children unhappy.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

You should pretend you are, though. That’ll make them like you.

Because they did so disdain him, most of the time. They disliked how he glared at their mother and started fights at family dinners and ignored them in the hallways. Why shouldn’t they? Feanor would hate a person who did those things to his family, too.

He just couldn’t stop, though. He wanted to, sometimes, when the exhaustion and loneliness caught up, and then he remembered that he wasn’t Indis’s son and never would be, and remembering that made him angry. Wouldn’t it just be so damn convenient for them all if he was almost her son?

But he wasn’t.

He was Miriel’s son. That was her name. He had no portrait with her. He loved her.

He loved Miriel, but it was Indis he posed with and-

When the session was done, Feanor jerked away from his father and shoved his way past Lalwen. As he went, Indis looked up at him, caught his eye, and he couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face.

He hoped that was painless enough for her.

When he returned to his chamber, he went to the wash room and heaved in the pot there. The gagging and retching made wetness prick his eyes, and the sudden tightness of throat made him choke all the harder. The sickness and heaving stayed long past when there was anything in his stomach to lose.

No one came. Feanor hoped maybe Father would, but really, why would he? Feanor had been mostly good, just a little rudeness wasn’t worth either reprimand or comfort.

No, they were together. Maybe admiring their portrait, happy and pleased, or complaining about his behavior again. Really, why couldnt that Curufinwe just accept nice things?

I need to get out of here, Feanor thought, face and body wet with both sweat and tears. I need to leave this place.

He was a good son, and he could do anything else his father wanted but betray his mother further. No, Feanor couldn’t pose as Indis’s son even a second longer. He would destroy himself, if he had to think one more time-

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

[hyacinthsgareth]

people claim to want ‘evil’ female characters but can’t even handle characters like penelope featherington or tashi duncan