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#just 'Fascinating...'

steampunkforever · 11 months

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Fascinated by this one Instagram account run by a girl who got divorced young and decided to make a career as a cottagecore divorce influencer out of it apparently

#not mean spirited it’s just fascinating to watch #idmbm

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phantomrose96 · 5 months

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Actually the funniest part of the entire James Somerton debacle is the response his cowriter Nick gave. For context, Hbomberguy talks a bit about Nick as a cowriter, and there is not any strong evidence implicating Nick of also plagiarizing, so Hbomberguy takes the angle of "Nick is probably not (also) responsible for the plagiarism".

Nick's response?

To claim he could not be part of the plagiarism, because he does not read. And does not do research...

SOURCE: I Fact-Checked The Worst Video Essayist On YouTube - YouTube, video essay by Todd in the Shadows.

The second screen cap is maybe a tongue-in-cheek joke... but bold choice when everyone's eyes are on you to respond to serious allegations. And this screencap doesn't include the other wishy-washy statements, pre-video, from Nick saying to the effect of "I write based on vibes. I come up with an idea and ruminate on it." For research videos. For educational videos about queer history and queer media culture.

Adds flavor to the Todd video, which goes through two-dozen examples of Somerton videos which just claim... provably factually incorrect bullshit.

This guy is a writer. An author. You could not waterboard "I don't read" out of me if I were aiming to launch a writing career.

Beating the plagiarism allegations by confidently asserting you suck too bad to ever get that far.

#hbomberguy #just... so fascinated with this #like was it an admittance under duress?#like 'no officer i did not kill that man because I was spending the night with my mistress'#or is it like a roundabout flex... like 'im a writer who doesnt read (and look how good my writing is just naturally)'#i wanna know

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comradekatara · 2 months

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i know that a lot of people take issue with the fact that pakku only agrees to teach katara because he realizes that she’s the granddaughter of the woman he tried to get with a bajillion years ago, but i actually see that moment of him realizing that kanna left to escape their marriage as a moment of self-reflection from him. like, imagine having to contend with the fact that your rancid vibes drove the love of your life away after having just publicly humiliated her fourteen year old granddaughter who was begat on the literal other side of the earth because how that’s far she went to escape him. sokka gets the moment of realizing “oh, men and woman are ontologically equal in their capacities, and divisions between genders are socially assigned and arbitrary,” but that isn’t really pakku’s deal at all. pakku’s deal is more like, “oh, my unyielding insistence on adhering to and imposing unjust patriarchal traditions actually makes me deeply unpleasant to be around and drives my loved ones away. maybe I should take a fucking chill pill perhaps.”

like, the fact that katara ultimately loses the fight and nothing she actually says or does persuades him is interesting, because it means that his reflection is internal, his moment of revelation not brought about by didactic moralizing, but through taking a long, hard look in the mirror, and realizing that being kind is more important than being right. and that’s why he seems to make an effort to be friendlier and more helpful, more so than making any effort to become a male feminist and fight for women’s rights. sokka, for example, initially has a narrow view of gender because his worldview is limited and then it expands, but pakku, by contrast, is literally a member of the white lotus; he is old and worldly, so he clearly already understands that their tribe’s traditions are not ontologically necessitated, but he nonetheless supports them because they benefit him. it is only when he learns that the love of his love literally escaped their tribe and left behind everything she ever knew just to avoid him that he decides to reevaluate his staunch insistence on clinging to his patriarchal values. and who wouldn’t. i mean, that’s gotta fucking hurt!

i know that katara’s fight against him does feel like a grand feminist moment as she fights for her ideals and her rights as a girl, and to her (and to us as the audience) it certainly does feel that way, but to pakku, his change of heart is one of realizing that he should probably stop being an asshole to every woman he’s ever met while he still has a few good years left. a core motif of katara’s arc is that she cannot actually preach her ideals and simply enlighten every asshole she meets, as much as she’d certainly like to; enlightenment comes from within. and so it is pakku’s regrets that motivate him to be kinder, because it’s never too late to change for the better. and that’s kind of beautiful actually.

#pakku #katara #sokka #(ish)#kanna #I feel like ive never really given pakku enough attention #im always kind of just like ‘L+ ratio + bowling pin ass head’#but he is interesting. he is #thinking abt the nwt in general. is fascinating #I love it sm

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prideprejudce · 1 year

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there should be a sub genre of books that were originally written to comment on the evils of capitalism and how greed and wealth corrupts society as a whole and how those popular books were subsequently made into hollywood movies and were marketed in a way in order to mass produce as much merchandise as possible so the companies behind the movies can make as much money as possible and thus completely erasing the original meaning of that story while also unintentionally proving the point of the original novels themes

#the hunger games #jurassic park #jurassic world #> among some of the examples #i feel like i could write a thesis on this #it’s just so fascinating to see

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yfere · 3 months

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Not Alastor making sure to first point at Husk with a warning expression before turning back to Charlie for his welcome home. This guy REALLY doesn't want Husk to say shit huh.

And Husk is obviously annoyed as hell (or judgmental? resigned? what is this expression exactly) but he joins the group hug anyway. Never change, Husk.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #alastor #husk #I am endlessly fascinated with their dynamic because I do not in fact understand it at all #alastor is an evil little nutcase and I truly cannot help but like him even so #also love how lucifer is just... so unhappy that he lived xD

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the-nefarious-vampire · 6 months

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"you only say you're autistic because you want to feel special and different" actually finding out i was autistic made me feel significantly less special and different. before i was autistic i was Strange and Unpredictable in some sort of Unknowable way which Surely meant i was Predestined for Greatness (like storybook character). now im just some fuckin autistic guy like any other. i significantly prefer it this way btw

#this isnt about being a gifted kid btw this is about being different from everyone else #seeing that all the famous people you look up to were Also described as being different from everyone else #and going “ahah! i must be a main character of some sort! i cannot wait for my fascinating tale to unfold!”#“perhaps i will be the first contact which alien life makes with earth! perhaps i am secretly a shapeshifting cat!”#only to grow up & find out what autism is & go “oh im actually just like millions of other people who are not famous at all. yay!”#autism #autistic #actually autistic

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marzipanandminutiae · 10 months

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quotes by Victorians about the 1920s view of their generation's women

"We are frequently told that the Victorian woman...generally behaved like a pampered and neurotic infant. This is all moonshine. I do not think that I ever saw a woman faint before I came to London in 1869, and not often after then...they enjoyed a hearty laugh, and a good many of them a contest of wits with any man." -Nineteenth Century, a Monthly Review, 1927 (written by a man born in 1850)

"What queer ideas the girl of 1929 has about the Victorian period- they are not a bit true...Marriage was by no means the end and aim of our existence. Oxford and Cambridge claimed quite a few of us after school days were over. We had great ideas about 'life' and what it all might mean to us." -St. Petersburg Times, 1929 (written by a woman born in 1853)

"True, debutantes were chaperoned at balls. But that fact did not prevent them from dancing as frequently as they chose with their favorite partners. The idea that girls in the Victorian era spent their days sewing seams and practicing scales is another fallacy." -Gettysburg Times, July 1, 1927 (quote from the Dowager Lady Raglan, Ethel Jemima Somerset, who lived from 1857 to 1940)

#history #when they were still alive to defend themselves #maybe- much as I rag on modern historical fiction -we've gotten a bit closer to the truth than our grandparents did #see this is one reason I love studying the Victorian era (besides hoarding their detritus like a dragon I mean what)#it just is One Of The Eras Of All Time in pop culture #and it means so much to so many people that getting to the real human bottom of it fascinates me #spoiler: it boils down to 'people were people and always have been'

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supercutszns · 4 months

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rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader #pjo series #pjo tv show #luke castellan smut #pjo #heroes of olympus #charlie bushnell #i like sexy evil people making out okay.#maybe will make a part 2 to this series because i’m just so fascinated by their weird little dynamic but we’ll see #i kind of hate this but WE MOVE ANYWAYS!!

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asweetprologue · 1 year

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The most interesting thing to me thus far about this whole goncharov thing is that Tumblr has collectively constructed some pretty convincing side characters for this movie. Katya leaps off the page as this frustrated woman caged by her lack of autonomy, Sofia coyly plays both sides and acts above it all when really she's desperate for the same freedom Katya is. Ice Pick Joe is a less developed character who nonetheless acts as a stand in for the inescapable nature of cycles of violence. andrey, loyal to a fault, gets pulled deeper and deeper into goncharov's orbit until there's no way for him to make it out alive

and yet with all that I have ZERO sense of who goncharov is supposed to be himself. i've see a lot of stuff suggesting that the film is theoretically about loss, including the loss of one's identity, shown primarily through the way goncharov becomes unrecognizable to himself by the time of his death at the end of the film (seeing himself in a fractured mirror is a common motif). it's very interesting to me that we have a fine time coming up with a group of collective blorbos based on mafia movie tropes, but somehow the main character feels unknowable, to the degree that we had to make that one of the core themes of the film.

#idk where i'm going w this it's just rly fascinating to me #i'm watching all of this unfold like a scientist studying a colony of ants on meth btw #goncharov #unreality

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imaybeabear · 1 year

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Anna Williams did not run through miles of forest nor face off with an infected with literally only a switchblade and sheer desperation all while fucking IN LABOR, then cut her daughter's umbilical cord with her own hands, clean her up, name her, love her, and hold her for hours even as she knew and felt that she was dying, prepared to stab herself with that same switchblade to save her baby, then beg her lifelong friend to take her girl somewhere safe where she could grow up happy and protected only for Marlene to fuckin sacrifice that girl, that baby she swore to her dying friend to take care of, for a shoddy at best chance to save an already irrevocably shattered world. Both the Williams ladies deserved better than that.

#the last of us #tlou #look ive said it before and ill keep saying it.#marlene is an incredibly written and performed character who is truly fascinating #and i hate her!#anna williams #ellie williams #marlene #does marlene have a last name? im bad at names :/#bea rambles #i just think that anna was up there cheering joel on the whole time

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egophiliac · 7 days

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Wait, did you put a photo of Vil and Neige as kids in Eric’s office??

oh good, I was afraid that wasn't going to read properly and people would just be like "what is this supposed to be". :') but yeah! I like to think Eric was pretty fond of Neige as a kid! single dad sees orphan child approximately the same age as his own son and goes "hmm. okay, you guys are going to be friends now." (this did not go as well as he'd hoped.)

(also I do love how it's kind of a running joke that everyone loves Neige except for Vil, who's standing over in the corner and just seething with furious irrational hatred. someday maybe he'll find someone who doesn't think Neige is the best thing since cinnamon rolls.)