#I was just thinking. pondering even

[itsbrucey]

OK I HAVE TO MENTION IT BC IT FUCKED ME UP A LITTLE....

In ep 45. We literally had Glenn PREPARED........to kill Terry Jr. Out of revenge for Nicky's arms/ maybe for the whole " trying to swap into Hell" thing. And Terry Jr wanted to die as repentance and such.

But it made me just sit there and think about like. The other dad's feelings about each other's kids. They as a group rescued all of them from the Forgotten Realms and while there was definitely some negative responses to kids like Lark or Nicholas, you'd assume that there would at least be the connection to them because " Oh that's Grant. Darryl's kid. I don't want to kill Grant, Darryl would be upset" LIKE THAT KIND OF THINKING... Y'KNOW.

So like. Makes me wonder if Glenn would've felt guilty, knowingly and permanently killing Terry Jr. He hurt Nicky but also that kind of loss would destroy Ron for sure. Or maybe he didn't think about that bc Terry Jr. and the other kiddads already burned that bridge by attacking Nicky and threatening Hell in the first place. Same goes for the other dad's ofc but Terry Jr and Glenn are the most readily available example of how the other dad's regard each other's children.

[ryllen]

just a boy with his house elf

[lucabyte]

Comfortable in New Skin

[nabaath-areng]

I have this one "OC" that does not yet have a name that I've drawn several times for a couple years. I was thinking that if I tried making them in FFXIV that I'd use elezen as a base... but then I remembered what other race have their near exact hairstyle... and now I'm like damn... I played myself...

[formerprincewille]

Something that really sets Wille and Simon apart from other queer ships is that when we say their love language is physical touch, IT REALLY IS PHYSICAL TOUCH. And I’m not speaking of just sex. Over the course of the show, the amount of touching between them is astronomical. And that’s really something rarely seen in queer media. There may be moments here or there, but often times there’s a lack of physical contact unless it’s for “the plot”. Wille and Simon feel like a real couple in the way they’re always physically reaching out for each other.

[regina-del-cielo]

Maybe it's a 'study finds water is wet' type of thought, but

considering it's an action movie whose overall plot is "immortal warriors Fuck Shit Up™️", I think it's significant that in The Old Guard the thing that makes Copley pull red strings through his Murder Conspiracy Board and say "[Merrick] doesn't care what [Andy]'s done with [her immortality]" is the people they save, not the ones they kill

Most of the Conspiracy Board is him circling random newspaper headlines and faces on old photographs to (more or less realistically) follow the immortals' treck through the world and big historical events. Which is, in-canon, not much different than putting portraits from different centuries next to a picture of Keanu Reeves and saying "they look the same, clearly Reeves is an immortal!"

But then there are the connections. A little girl holding Joe's hand in WW1 becoming the youngest (and first) woman to be awarded a Nobel Prize for Medicine (suck it, Kozak). Or the grandchild of a family that Andy saved from [something] helping people escape from the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia.

They are warriors. They have fought and been in the midst of countless wars, major or minor, throughout history. They must have killed as many people as they saved... and yet.

It's not them taking out a random warlord or dictator or rabidly hateful politician that has tangible repercussions in history. It's the children and families they get out of war zones, save from accidents, protect from natural disasters. People to whom they give a second chance at life, and grow to change the world (or even just their own world), like a mysterious stranger once changed theirs just by holding out a hand or patching a wound.

I don't know I just think it's particularly neat

[habken]

Ever thought of drawing Arcane characters with MHA characters you think they'd get along with?

Totally not giving you an excuse to draw Arcane characters

I have so much homework

[epickiya722]

It's still something to me that Sukuna knew Yuji was his nephew for like a month and didn't tell Yuji that.

Why he didn't, I don't know. But I guess it's because he didn't care to, at the end of the day. There would have been no point to it.

Even still, Sukuna wanted to so badly break Yuji's spirit and he didn't figure that may have done it, revealing they're technically family? Because had Yuji known, I'm sure it would have upset him.

Then again, maybe Sukuna figured "the brat wouldn't believe me anyways". In 248, he mentions no matter what he did, Yuji isn't breaking.

A part of me also feels like Sukuna just didn't want to be reminded that he still had family. The more you don't think and mention something and ignore it, the more nonexistent it becomes.

Maybe he acted dismissive while revealing that information to Uraume, who was more surprised and curious, to kind of cut off that connection. Extinguish that feeling of what it's like to have family that could care for you.

He was there to witness how Yuji's relationship with Choso changed and maybe it reminded him of what could have been had he and his twin survived in the womb. (I still think Sukuna just had it out for Choso and maybe part of the reason could be because Choso was so devoted to be being a big brother while Sukuna didn't get to experience having a sibling.)

We see how he acts just from Yuji showing any bit of sympathy and pity for him.

Maybe he is disgusted by the idea of human connections and emotions genuinely. That his own "me, myself and I" mentality is so strong that he convinced himself that even having family is absurd to him? And what if a part of him, deep, deep down just feels he doesn't deserve that love?

I'm just rambling and pondering right now.

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

[vigilskept]

i'm not saying they should have done this but there could've been something there in a veilguard that didn't refuse to engage with the past/present of the elves (and arlathan and tevinter in particular!) where bellara's engagement with the veilguard is a story of alienation.

how would it feel to be enlisted by rook to save minrathous, knowing that this beautiful, awful city was built on the labour and blood of millions of your people, given unwillingly? how would it feel to know there will be no recognition of what you've done for them in the end? that whatever you do, the instability in arlathan (which you've left everyone else to deal with, to help these strangers) will mean more death for your people? that shemlen will try to profit from this weakness anyway?

you've learned that elvhenan was not quite what you thought and the creators aren't exactly what you believed them to be. but how can you know that the dread wolf, the great betrayer of your gods and your people isn't misleading you either? there is something wrong with rook. there has been from the start, but no one will talk about it. no one but davrin even seems to understand your concerns that they expect you all to take the dread wolf at his word because they made the mistake of trusting him.

of course, it's easy for them to believe your gods were nothing but tyrants and monsters. it only means their hands are clean.

[theangrypomeranian]

I just want my passion back man idk why that's so much to ask for

[ryllen]

Please don't crucified me if this headcanon is deemed unrealistic in real life. (´；ω；`) More notes / detailed notes:

stayed & travelled with the Figs for awhile -- after being found, before finally dropped of to an institution, as the Figs think their travelling life style is not really suitable to raise a child

quickly picked up civilization as he is an intelligent child (that's why he is a ravenclaw)

exchanged letters with the travelling Figs during his time at the institution / orphanage

was a really helpful child during his time at the institution / orphanage that he is close with the staff

he thinks of befriending people is a way of learning & by helping them he gets to experience a lot of different things

a mellow temperament child in general (just like how it is ingame)

likes exploring (bcs damn! we really going places in that game)

picked the silly 'Alex Xander' name himself, maybe he heard a mother called her child with that name once and he is obsessed with that name ever since.

he always writes Xander as his 'family name' to show that he is complete even without a family

actually a bit older than his classmates, as he went through extra few years to catch up to civilization as a feral child

blank template [x]

#anyhow i really love our barn owl; she's so beautiful but with a face like biscuit

[hyunpic]

hyunjin on bubble: im drawing and i started wondering why i even draw. so i can’t sleep.. staying in that period of transition. the reason why i keep asking these questions and trying to find answers is, i think it’s because i believe that it’s only those who love me, that can help me find an answer or a path. because thinking about and questioning things that you don’t really need to think about and answering those questions is contradicting in itself.. is what i think? (translation source)

[ehlnofay]

A woman pauses over the wares sold by the Khajiiti merchants camped outside Danstrar to ask with no small amount of perturbation, “Whose children are those?”

Efri glances up to check she’s talking about them – as if there’s a whole host of other children around she might be referring to. The woman is standing over the rug Tsradaro’s laid out their most intriguing trinkets on – she has one clawed hand on the lid of a little palm-sized casket, one of the boxes of pretty-smelling oils. (If the strange woman is getting to buy one, then Efri’s jealous. She doesn’t have any money, and she’s not allowed to use those sorts of things for free, no matter how nice the perfume smells. Normally she doesn’t care about rules like that, but the caravan is being very nice and the things they sell are their livelihood, so she follows them without much complaining.)

The woman is looking at her and Sissel, clustered with Khasir around the firepit. Efri and Sissel are hunched over the steaming-hot fish on a dish, away from the pan of spitting butter. Efri says brightly, “We’re our own children.”

“We found them in the wilderness,” Taz puts in quietly, fingers running up and down the handle of the axe laying at eir side on the blanket, and Efri nods in agreement. (She likes Taz, even if ey talks barely more than Kazari or Shirri-la. A lot less if you count all the things Kazari and Shirri-la say that the others translate for her. Ey’s calm and quiet and has let Efri touch eir axe, so ey’s good in her books.)

“Exactly,” she says. The woman looks no less perplexed or concerned. Efri squints and tells her, “I like your beads.”

(She does. The woman’s got a string of them, pretty coloured glass, stretched across her breast between her hangerok brooches. Most of them are a fiery orange-red, the same colour as her hair.)

The woman looks down at the beads she wears as if she forgot about them. “Oh,” she says. “Thank you.”

Efri abandons the fish – not like she can do anything with it, it’s too hot to touch still – to shuffle across the laid-out rugs and join Tsradaro at her display. “Are you going to buy any fabrics?” she asks the woman, and then before there’s really time to answer she turns to Tsradaro. “Did you show her them? We’ve got some really pretty silks and things. Nice patterns. I wanted to make a dress with them but Tsradaro said no, they’re for selling.”

The woman’s eyebrows – bright-bead-red – meet in the middle of her forehead. “Do you… help sell things here?”

“She is a born patterer, that one,” Tsradaro says smoothly. Her whiskers twitch. “And yes, they’re for  selling – and yes, Tsradaro already gave you money for the dress you have, she isn’t going to give you fabric for a new one. She is not quite so open-handed.”

Efri curls up her fingers to rub the stitching of her sleeve. “Fair enough,” she acknowledges. “And it’s nice. But that green one is so pretty.”

“Hm.” Tsradaro is grinning with her eyes a bit; she hides it fiddling with the display of the wares on the rug in front of her. “If there is a bolt-end left over, you can have it for a scarf. Now shoo. You are distracting the customers.”

“And you’ve abandoned the fish!” Khasir calls. When he grins, it’s with all his teeth, sharp-edged and sparkling. “This one cannot do it all on their own.”

There’s only one customer, and the fish is still steaming, but Efri gets the hint, so she blinks her thanks and hurries back over to the fire.

“We’re doing all three?” she checks, looking at the numerous pots and pans Khasir’s rigged up over the flames. (She bought three cod with the money they gave her for dinner. That’s certainly not a fish she and Sissel and Kazari ever caught from their tundra creek – they’re so much bigger than she could have imagined, and it took all her strength to haul them back to the camp. She had to carry one of them in her arms because it didn’t all fit in the little sack she brought.)

“Yes,” they say emphatically, poking at something in one of the pots. “So hurry up.”

Because she’s helpful, Efri does. She squats down next to Sissel, next to the dish, and takes up the knife. She cuts off the head – it takes a fair bit of hacking – and the tail, because Sissel hates that bit, and cuts the fins out as well. She cracks some of the bones there by accident; Sissel picks them out with her fingers. Then, sticking her tongue out in concentration, she runs the knife right down the middle, jerking the blade through the bones. It isn’t going right through the bottom like it did with the fish they learned to butcher from the stream, but she more or less gets it eventually; cuts away the chunks of bone, and is left with two beautiful fillets.

Well. Beautiful might be a bit generous. But they’re edible – surely that’s the most important thing.

“Told you I knew how to debone a fish,” Efri says triumphantly.

Khasir glances up over the flour they’re tipping into a hanging pan. “You do,” he agrees amiably, and for a moment Efri thinks he’s being nice, but then he cracks another smug little grin. “But not well. The pin bones are still in.”

Efri frowns. She can’t see any bones. It’s filleted fine.

“Let me,” Sissel says, and peels the knife out of her hand. Efri frowns again, harder, but lets her.

Her irritation is only compounded when Khasir finds nothing to tease about in the way Sissel carefully slices the bones away and strips the skin of with a few neat, if unpractised, cuts. “That’s not fair,” she complains, mulish. “Sissel’s basically a genius, of course she’ll get it right.”

“I’m not a genius,” Sissel says, “I’m just better at this than you,” and she smiles when Efri giggles despite herself, a quick flash of teeth.

Khasir has Sissel do the rest of the fillets. They let Efri watch the way they fry up the batter – just flour in a pan of spitting butter and sizzling herbs, a little bit of egg put in to help it all bond. When it’s cooked all golden, smelling delicious, he levers it quick as a wink off the flat pan and into the covered dish he’s keeping them warm in while they wait for the rest of it all to be done. Efri asks to cook a griddle-cake herself; Khasir laughs at her.

They’re a bit of a bastard.

They do let her stir the sauce for the fish, though – hung a little bit higher than everything else so it can simmer with lower heat. It smells nice too. Sissel’s almost done with the third fish by this time. (She’s a lot faster than Efri was; it’s probably for the best that she do most of the filleting.)

Efri looks up and across the camp. There’s two different people now at Tsradaro’s display – one standing, one kneeling to get a better look at all the things. Shirri-la has come out of the tent, and she’s sitting with her tail curled around her feet on her cushion next to the wares. Kazari’s still in the tent, Efri thinks. They’re tired – helped carry most things as they travelled this last stretch of journey to Danstrar in order to give the nag a break, so now they’re resting. It’s only fair. In a week or so they’ll all split off from the caravan, strike out across the frozen terrain for Winterhold, and they’ll really need the energy then.

Just a bit further away, the red-haired woman is standing. Efri’s not sure if she bought something or not; she doesn’t look like she’s looking to buy anything now.

“That lady’s looking at us,” Efri tells Khasir, her brow furrowing.

Khasir glances over so quick Efri’s not even sure if she saw it right; they make a guttural tutting sound over the batter in the pan. Tch. “People do that,” he replies, deliberately nonchalant.

Efri bites her tongue. “They shouldn’t,” she complains. It’s uncomfortable, to be stared at. It’s rude, to stare.

(She feels a bit bad, even though she didn’t do anything wrong; because the woman seemed uncomfortable with Efri and Sissel being with the caravan, and maybe if they weren’t, Khasir wouldn’t have to be stared at while they cook dinner.)

“Perhaps,” Khasir says. He flips the batter. “But they do.”

“Done,” Sissel says, holding up a dish full of neatly filleted fish.

(Efri says, “How.” Both Khasir and Sissel ignore her.)

“Chop it up small,” Khasir tells her. The jewellery in his nose glitters as he shifts over the fire. “Then – Efri, mix it in with the sauce. No, not – smaller than that, dran khrassa! So all can eat.”

Sissel slices the fish into little bits. (Efri would have cut them into tiny strips, to get back at Khasir for being bossy, but Sissel is more forgiving.) Efri takes the dish, tips it into the saucepan, begins to stir.

“If we were in Elsweyr, Khajiit would stare at you,” Khasir says. He takes the flat-cake off the pan. “They would say, who let these bald children run around unsupervised?”

Efri chuckles, but she feels pensive. Her face screws up. “But if we were in Elsweyr,” she says, “even if they stared at us, they’d still let us buy from their shops and all.”

Khasir sighs, long and low. They lift the lid off the dish. “Efri,” they say, with unexpected patience; “This one understands that you are a child who has just discovered injustice. This is new to you. It is not new to us. Khasir knew before he travelled here that he would be treated poorly.”

“But it’s not fair,” Efri replies, agitated, her fingers bony and twitching on the handle of her spoon. “It’s not fair to do both. They can keep you out or they can stare, they can’t keep you where they can’t even see you and then still come to look anyway.” She keeps looking, without quite meaning to, in the direction of the red-haired woman. She keeps glaring. She hopes it scares her off.

“Mm,” Khasir says, unimpressed – but faintly amused, she thinks, which is kind of annoying but also kind of good? “Well, you can tell the people who make the laws so, have them forbid wrongful staring.”

Efri, mixing, considers this. “Sissel,” she asks, “can you write a message to a jarl?”

Khasir cackles. Sissel scrunches up her face. “Well, you can. I doubt they’d read it.”

That’s one idea gone, Efri supposes. She’ll have to keep thinking.

Khasir does not allow her time to keep thinking. “Another few minutes and that will be perfect,” they say, nodding to the pot she’s stirring, and they take their griddle-pan off the fire. Then they pause, look at Efri out of the edges of their bright greeny-gold eyes. “This one will own, it has been much easier with you as companions. We did not have to wait for the grocers and fishmongers to come out to trade on their own time, or forage for ourselves if they did not.”

“You just don’t want to do your job,” Efri says. Tsradaro said Khasir hunted but he’s barely hunted at all while they’ve known him, only just at the beginning.

Khasir barks a laugh, tipping his head in acknowledgement. With the air of one conferring a great and shameful secret, he replies, “This one does not like deer stalking in the snow.”

Fair enough; Efri nods seriously. She’s never hunted deer but it’s probably difficult, especially in the snow. She stirs the sauce, the lumps of fish buffeted by the flat of her spoon, the smell making her mouth water.

She glances up at the cloud-blanketed sky. She asks, “When we’re in Winterhold, can we write a message to you?”

Khasir tilts their head further. “You can try,” they say. “But Khajiit may be too fast for the couriers. It may never arrive.”

“We’ll try,” Efri decides; when she glances as Sissel, she sees her nod. “We’ll figure out a way. I want to hear about where you go after!”

“About what other strays we find on the road?” Khasir jokes, but his smile is wide and shiny, nose scrunched up with it so whiskers flicker over his eyes. He leans over, takes Efri’s pot off the fire. “Good.”

Efri grins, even though they’re not looking and can’t see it.

“Go get Kazari,” they command, lifting the lid of the dish and moving one of the still-hot flat-cakes to a plate with their fingers. “This one will get a plate ready. He has to take over for Tsradaro, so he’ll eat quickly.”

Efri salutes (a habit she picked up from an Imperial courier they traded with on the road – she thinks it’s funny) and marches towards the tent.

(The food, when they eat it, is delicious.)

[appendectomy]

I jest about loumand failmarriage but I do actually really appreciate that amc iwtv gave them some genuinely sweet and romantic scenes that make you understand why they were drawn to eachother. lesser shows wouldve treated this pairing as an obstacle to loustat and made it shallow and demonised armand especially bc of this, not giving him or louis an ounce of compelling history to make sure the audience never strays from the loustat 'endgame'. instead, the iwtv writers treated both parties in that relationship with nuance and used it as an opportunity to expand upon their characters which I really really appreciate. they let you find substance and interest in all the relationships in the show, not just the ones that are intended to be the 'final' pairings.

[rainbowolfe]

Is Kallamar just being gushy/sweet when he calls the cult grounds "home" or is he, perhaps, implying something greater about the patch of land that was once Narinder's?