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#you people are just all so nice
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I have to say, I absolutely love how flexible Guardian fandom seems to be about whether canon comes from the book or the show. Not only have I never seen anybody being a snob about which one of them is superior to the other, I’ve come across way more instances of people just mashing them together and, you know what, whatever!
Is Shen Wei the Ghost Slayer or the Black Robe Envoy? A biology professor or a literature professor? A Ghost King or an alien? Guy With Arm Garters or Dude Most Likely To Beat To Death Something Already Dead With A Chair? Man, he’s whatever he needs to be to make the joke land.
Does Chu Shuzhi actually eat babies? No, that was just a calculated lie. Heck yeah he does! Can Da Qing change at will into human form? Yes, but only when he’s had sufficient snacks. No, he’s a full-time cat. What’s possessing Zhaddy? A body-less alien dude. An unexpectedly sentient bowl. What’s Zhao Yunlan’s weapon? A bunch of heavy-duty magic. A goofy-looking gun and a kick to the balls. What are the Four Hallows? Pillars left over from the creation of the world. Idk some alien shit. How alive is Zhao Yunlan’s mom? Alas, she got fridged. Not only is she alive, she ships it.
Time travel or reincarnation? 5000 years or 10,000 years? Ghosts or aliens? Buddhist or scientist? Ye Zun or Gui Mian? Kunlun-jun or Kunlun-j/k lol? Hell or Dixing? Whatever works! It doesn’t have to be consistent within the same piece! It doesn’t even have to be consistent within the same sentence.
I’m just saying, I like it. I like that attitude. Keep it up.
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Of the 19 hijackers who carried out the Sept 11 attacks:
15 were from Saudi Arabia (a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)
2 were from the United Arab Emirates (also a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)
1 was from Egypt, 1 from Lebanon.
None of the hijackers were from Iraq.
None of the Sept 11 hijackers were Iraqi.
None of the 9/11 hijackers were from Iraq.
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captainjonnitkessler · 4 months
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Do you guys notice how when Shawn Fain, president of the United Auto Workers union, started planning a general strike, he did it by a) targeting his messaging towards unions with the ability to safely and effectively strike in large numbers, b) laid out a clear, actionable plan for those unions to follow (setting contracts to all expire at the same time, since many unions cannot strike while under contract), c) is using union contracts to set clear, actionable demands that can be met in order to gauge success and provide an end goal, and d) started organizing FOUR YEARS before the proposed strike date to give people the chance to plan accordingly, because it takes a really freaking long time to get tens of millions of people organized?
You notice how he didn't do it by slapping a message on Twitter saying 'hey nobody go to work on Monday, that'll really show 'em'?
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chubs-deuce · 2 months
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Alastor may dislike new age tech but that doesn't mean he doesn't have his sources lol
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p4nishers · 5 months
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god. GOD. the underlying anger in everything terry writes really IS apparent in hogfather bc fuck u mean this is how things should be? no the fuck it shouldn't. poor people shouldn't have to be satisfied with what they get, that's just fucking capitalism. i REALLY like that terry decided to use death as projection for what he thinks bc death doesn't know anything and it has to be explained to him and by it being explained to him it shows how fucking stupid those things are. bc ok here's this world where an equivalent of santa ACTUALLY exists and, because it mirrors our world, it's still unjust. santa actually fucking exists in this world and he could give ANYONE ANYTHING bc he's essentially a god and people gave him that power by making him up, BUT because ppl imagined him in a way that poor people don't get shit (like they usually do) and rich people get EVERYTHING they want, he exists like that. whereas death has seen the absolutely WORST of humanity and he STILL thinks that's bullshit and it's not how it should be, it's just how it goes. bc capitalism is always capitalism where there's money and the world will always be fucked up as long as there are oppressor to hold it up. like i just.
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featheredadora · 10 months
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lazylittledragon · 1 month
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what do you mean youre technically a detransitioner cause of terf bullshit?
it's a v long story but i detransitioned for a couple of years when i was 16/17, for multiple reasons but mostly because i fell into the blaire white/kalvin garrah chamber of "you have to be This way to be trans otherwise you're not real".
i was already Deeply insecure about myself and my 'passing' and i was led to believe that i couldn't want to wear makeup or skirts, and i couldn't choose not to have bottom surgery, and i couldn't do anything but bind for 12+ hours a day to the point that my ribcage is still misshapen. basically i thought that if i wasn't suffering enough doing 'feminine' things, i couldn't really be trans, so i should just go back to being a girl and suck it up.
the terf bullshit is because i'd seen a lot of terfs/detransitioners talking about the 'dangers' of testosterone and how it would turn me into a horrible ugly evil monster and how there was nothing worse than wanting to be a man. which combined with 'you need to fully medically transition to be valid at all' creates some very dangerous and upsetting feelings to cope with.
it also came from trying really hard to put myself in a little box before i realised that my sexuality/gender are very fluid and it's FINE for me not to have a label and just do whatever i want. when i was 19 or so i went back to using they/them (and eventually he/him) and changed my name again because even though i like doing 'feminine' things, i don't want to be seen as a woman.
tldr: i was conditioned by transphobic/terf rhetorics to think that i was being trans the 'wrong' way so i couldn't be trans at all, so i believed i must actually be a girl if i still wanted to do 'feminine' things. nowadays i am a transmasc who does feminine things because i don't give two shits about what any transmed prick thinks of me anymore.
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yookikiku · 15 days
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when someone sends u a nice thing ❤
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libraford · 1 year
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My dad is going through grandmas old photos that she swore one day she'd organize but never did, and he tells me that hes only keeping 'the important ones.'
"The picture of me n' John n' tim n' michael. And your grandpa and the like. I'm not keeping pictures of cats or the ones of where Grandpa saw a buffalo once."
And listen I am rarely mad at my dad because hes got the best of intentions but...
When I was hlgoing through my other grandmas photos in 2021, I kept EVERY picture of a cat or dog and do you want to know why?
It was 1918, cameras were a luxury to have, film was expensive to develop, and you didnt want to waste film on something pointless and they
STILL
Took pictures of their pets.
"I have a cat. Please let me show you my cat" is a human quality that transcends generations. Before photos, we painted portraits of our companion animals on various surfaces and we will continue to do this til the end of time.
Great great great aunt Ida wanted you to know she had a fluffy little white cat with little black spots and a little black mustache and I think we should hear her out.
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raycatzdraws · 2 months
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ribbonwood
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mcflymemes · 7 months
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please don't mistake silence for hatred. please don't mistake unanswered plotting messages as indifference, or a lack of enthusiasm towards you. considering the ages of most roleplayers, many of us have bills to pay, families to take care of, medical conditions to treat, appointments to make, classes to take, homes to clean, and lives to live away from the computer that are far, far more important than writing on tumblr — life has a tendency to get in the way of hobbies and fun things like this. be patient with your fellow writers. if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. of course you can set your boundaries, keep your space comfortable, and softblock whoever you wish, but do so while recognizing it's probably not hatred or apathy that keeps them from leaping into your dms with message after message. they probably love this hobby just as much as you... but sometimes life gets in the way.
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minthepm · 2 years
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guys i think there’s a problem with my nintendo switch
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crescentfool · 5 months
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orpheus and thanatos 💚
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fumifooms · 3 months
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Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.
His grey hairs are so earned
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#Chilchuck tims#dungeon meshi#analysis#HAPPY CHILCHUCK DAY#You know what yeah understandable have a good day#Alcohol be a ticket straight to chilling out town I suppose#Spoilers#dungeon meshi manga spoilers#Thinking on if I should split my family masterpost into diff posts for max reach hmm#Anyways I’m def editing in the second page into that post that “I’ve got three people to think of here” sounds sooo much like that’s#How he’d think about it in a family setting as well. He works so hard for them 🥺#I could have put 100 pics on this post to justify everything I mentioned but this is a speedrun for a reason. I’m planning so many#Compilations rn i need a break from rereading lol#He’s just here to do his work!! He just wanna do his work!!!#I’m always rotating him in my brain like rotisserie chicken :( Hopefully this doesn’t sound disjointed or insane to average readers#He’s always on his guard so he has a short fuse and his type of humor & liking for snarky remarks doesn’t help#Also bc he knows nothing lasts he has a very work hard play hard mentality where ‘dying doing something you love. Like drinking’#Is nice in his opinion#This post makes it all sound so dry. Chilchuck is so messy thinking about him is thrilling I swear. This is concise but at what cost…#OH ALSO he has weird self-hate issues where he really values his skills but devalues himself on a personal level.#‘I am a coward. I only care about myself. I cheated on my wife (lying for no reason)’ etc etc#Can’t disappoint people and make them leave you if they already have no expectations and esteem of you 😏💡
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 5 months
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MDZS Height Poll: Who is (technically) the tallest character. Please remember that these polls are for fun!
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amethysttribble · 2 months
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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 any more.
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.
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