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i have been hearing there is a big CHUCK TINGLE easter egg in game DATE EVERYTHING very cool buckaroos what an honor. MY ONLY QUALM is they should have asked me to voice one of the living objects. COME ON. maybe next time

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rewatched pacific rim (2014) and damn it really hit me how much this movie names its characters like a comic book, which is to say its white characters get completely normal white people names and its non-white characters get. well they get names like Mako Mori and Stacker Pentecost

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girls girls girls! 🌸🍊

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I know the Star Wars extended universe treats “spice” like it’s this big scary drug, but I kind of like to imagine that it’s basically just space weed, and the only reason Han got in trouble with the Imperials over Jabba’s cargo is that he was evading import tariffs.

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look! the moonlight shows us for what we really are. we are not among the living, and so we cannot die — but neither are we dead.

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i love being up early but i love being up late. and i love getting lots of sleep. what now.

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Lmao how is this real, "the ambient sounds of the world were wrong, sir"

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Okay but did you know that there's a place beyond the wormhole? A place that only lovers know? The brave? The hopeful? The lost? The true? Maybe me and you? Won't you come with these fools and dreamers? To the planet we call home? We hope we'll see you soon? On sanctuary moon??

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I'm not like Mad at anyone who does this and I'm obviously not in charge of how anyone else tags shit on their own blogs, whatever, but it's always bummed me out when my sex Ed posts get reblogged and tagged with 18+, minors dni, etc. personally I actually very much want teenagers to learn about their bodies and safer sex but I guess I'm just the guy who wrote the thing.

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my tumblr app literally crashed when I tried to scroll down this. you need to get interviewed on a podcast anon, this is fascinating. we need a reality tv show "the secret lives of booktok ghostwriters"

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hold on something just happened

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Absolutely wild to me how sometimes you don't even realize the way you'd been taught to perceive things as a kid was kinda fucked up, actually, until decades later.

Example:

As a kid, I constantly lived in fear of damaging shit in my parent's house. The walls. The floors (especially the floors. The wood was beautiful. Shiny. But so easy to scratch). The cabinets.

As a sixteen-year-old, I once took my car to the dealership after work and paid a very dear sum of $250 ($10/hr cashier salary) to fix a slight scratch in the paint because I knew if my father saw it there would be hell to pay. It didn't matter that I parked far out, like I'd been taught, and someone scratched it anyway. It was my fault. I failed in my duties as a steward of my vehicle.

Every time I scratched a rim on a curb while parallel parking or got a door ding or, god forbid, didn't wash and vacuum that car every weekend, it was treated like some sort of moral failing.

Last year, when my husband and I first moved into our house, he scraped the side of our car when parking in our (Very Narrow) garage. When he told me, my first instinct was to be afraid for him. Like something terrible was going to happen to him because of this mistake. I urgently reassured him that it was okay, it was an accident, I wasn't mad. Baffled, he was like, "Yeah? I know? Like, thank you for the reassurance, but I'm only a little annoyed, I'm not upset. It's just a car." And I had to take several minutes to process that. It's...just a car.

We keep the car tidy. We maintain it. But we wash it maybe 4x a year. We only vacuum it after dirty road trips or when the dog hair starts to get annoying. It has scrapes and dings and the leather seats have stains. But that's ok. Because it's just a car.

This morning, I realized that a small rock had gotten embedded in the felt foot on one of our bar stools. Neither of us had noticed. There are now scratches on our beautiful hardwood floor. My immediate response was fear accompanied by a heavy measure of paralyzing guilt. "I'm so sorry," I told my husband, "I should have noticed. I'll figure out how to fix it, I swear. I can probably sand down that section and match the stain and--"

"Whoa, hey," he said. "It was an accident. And it's fine. Floors are going to get damaged. They're floors. We live here. There was damage in places before we even bought the house, remember? It's not a big deal. It's just a floor." Right. It's just a floor. Right.

My husband's mom is visiting and this afternoon, as I was sitting in the kitchen looking at the scratches on the floor, I offhandedly asked her if my husband had ever broken or damaged anything as a kid. "Of course," she said. Household items. A TV. A wrecked car during his teen years. I asked how she punished him.

"Why would I punish him for things like that?" she said. "They were all accidents."

Right. Of course. Right.

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Having the time of ferret’s life!

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I thought it would be an hour of listening to screaming and looking at pictures of draculas, but it was so much for frightening than fathomed

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The thing about Jason Todd is I like to call him cathartic and he *is* but he's also...a sort of fantasy fulfillment, but not the one I think people assume.

Jason cannot be a Punisher type fantasy because his own victimization undercuts it. This isn't a tale about a hero avenging his family. This is the singing bones.

Because fundamentally, the fantasy in utrh is this: the victimized dead can rise again, screaming. Can cut a bloody path through the world and make the powerful listen. It doesn't matter if what he does is just or right, anymore, just that it exposes the wound.

In real life the dead stay dead and their abusers write their obituaries and get sympathy cards from their families and you bite your tongue and let the wounds rot and -

And then there's Jason, who comes back wrong because the world is wrong. Who comes back sharp and cruel, who makes himself a knife where there was once only grave dirt. Who tells Bruce, and by extension the audience itself, that *yes* you were grieving wrong. Yes you did allow this. You preserved peace over justice. You offered platitudes to a silent headstone while you ignored the screams of the living victims.

The fantasy of Jason Todd is this:

You have to look the corpse in the eyes, this time.

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birth of the mermaid

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why are teen girls this hysterically funny for no reason