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Val: Hello, handy horse I’ve never seen before. 

Loki: Eh, this is still better than the last time I was a mare. 

Valkyrie: *shows up to the final battle on a horse no one’s ever seen before*

Loki:

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Space President Rey and her faithful P3g-6 would light up my life, but only if Vice President Rose Rico gets to ride something cool too. 

some man online: “arya’s a mary sue. rey’s a mary sue. i simply don’t believe a young girl could be that skilled.”

what they expect me to say: “well, no, actually, canon supports it, because if you look back as far as season three, she’s been training for–”

what i’m actually gonna say: “good. good. about fucking time. in the next movie i hope rey blows up a dreadnought with finger lightning that she learned earlier that day. i hope she rips palpatine’s spine out with her bare hands while everybody claps”

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both my inner witch and my inner farmer’s daughter tell me this foal is full of omens. 

Colt by Silvery Moon out of Quickie (Sholokhov). This thoroughbred colt has been named “Quicksilver”. 

Photo (X)

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A Connecticut Yankee...a kid...that's all well and good but we really don't talk enough about the werewolf in King Arthur's court

This is not a shitpost — in Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory makes mention of “Sir Marrok, the good knight that was betrayed with his wyf, for she made hym seven yere a wer-wolf”. Of course, Malory lifted the tale of the werewolf knight straight outta “Bisclavret,” which is one of the Twelve Lais of Marie de France. And it is…wild. There’s also “Melion,” an anonymous Breton lai which along with “Biclarel” is believed to have evolved from the same source as “Bisclavret”. In this post we’re gonna refer to the protagonist as the “knight” or the “wolf-knight” and tell a somewhat composite tale.

(A note: this takes place well before commonly established werewolf lore, which crystallized thanks to Universal’s The Wolf Man. Curt Siodmak wrote all that stuff about the full moon and silver bullets in 1941 so well that our common imagination accepted it as ancient fact.)

So anyway our guy is a knight who disappears for a couple nights a week and his wife is like ?????? dude ??????? where ??? do you ???? go ??????

And my dude is like “babe I love you but I can’t tell you because you won’t look at me the same” and she’s like “I am your wIFE you better tell me right quick or otherwise have a good nose for almonds in your oatmeal” (jk she doesn’t say that because if she did he might’ve gotten a little foreshadowing of her treachery, but alas, our man was a sucker)

So the knight tells her he’s a werewolf, and on the nights he disappears he’s wolfing around the countryside and his wife is like !!!!!!!!!! on the inside but makes sure her face is only 🤔 on the outside

(Mind you, Marie de France goes into how the wife is grossed out because she shared her marriage bed with a beast, which has some interesting implications but we’ll get to those later)

She starts digging about his transformation until he explains how in order to return to his human shape, he *needs* to put his human clothes back on or else he’ll be stuck as a wolf, at which point wifey is 👀👀👀👀

Wifey’s like, “but if ur in wolf form, how do u remember where u put ur clothes lol” and the knight’s like, “no no, I retain my human mind even in wolf form and besides, I always put them under this one rock outside this cave”

now bear in mind he’s never been able to talk about this to anyone so he’s pouring his heart out about his deepest secret which he kept even from his wife & I know we’re all pretty used to medieval repression but imagine how it must have felt to share this secret at long last 😥

So to recap:

knight: 🤵🏻🛡🐾🌕🐺🤫😅���♥️💐 wifey: 👰🏼💭🤢🤔👀🧐💡💡👔💍🔪🔪🔪

Our knight is like “yeah so I was born this way and it’s just a part of who I am and whew it’s kind of a relief to finally be talking about it with someone”

Wifey nods along 🤔🤔🤔 because she’s had a💡moment and is 🍳 up a plan…

Keep reading

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I have never wanted to sew a tiny hooded cloak so much. 

Mattel: Barbie has had numerous careers over the years

Me: but not…. Assassin

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On the plus side, it’s May, apparently the one time of year a   character from a folk ballad can have horribly-euphemismed sex. 

It had almost escaped my notice that it is now May, the month that dooms to a heartbroken death 99% of characters from folk ballads. So, if you suspect you may be a character from a folk ballad, for your own safety: 

don’t fall in love, don’t go by the river, don’t go to the sea, don’t talk to sailors, don’t gamble, don’t ramble, don’t go North, don’t go North-West, don’t stand in the wind, don’t dance with anyone named Sally, Sue, Mary, Ann, or Barbara, don’t go to the pub (but if you do go to the pub at least don’t drink, and if you do drink at least pay for your own drink, and if you are absolutely broke and have to let someone else pay for your drink then at the very least do try not to forget to toast everyone you know whom you think might be there very loudly and possibly multiple times), don’t lend money, don’t borrow money, don’t wish you had more money, don’t make plans to make more money, don’t start working for a new employer, absolutely do believe anyone who says they will try to kill you, curse you, or maim you, absolutely do believe anyone who says you might die, turn down every invitation to go a-hunting, horse-riding, or a-courting, be wary of flute players you meet on your path, don’t dance with satanic men in black coats, don’t marry off your daughters to the first man who’ll have them, and don’t promise your true love any herbs you can’t readily plant and gather in your own garden. 

There. That should just about cover you for 31 days. Heed the warnings and you may have a chance to last the month. Good luck.

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Why did nobody tell me there’s a full version of the She-ra theme song

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This brightens my day, because if the eldritch skeleton is creeping past me than that mean the scary entity in this scenario is me. 

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I laughed so hard I startled my puppy. 

“twisting classical characters like dorian gray into a homosexual”

i’m fucking crying

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Vast majority of the UK: So...we’ve been doomed in the brain since time immemorial, then?

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And today I learned that Arizona has vampire *bats* because I initially had several pressing questions about that poster. 

Fun fact: Arizona is the only place in the country where the state mine inspector is an elected position

Another fun fact: this is one of my favorite political ads of all time, straight out of 2014

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All lesbian Universal monsters gives me joy! 

Phantom of the Opera but with lesbians

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I’m kind of desperate for the next Captain Marvel movie to have lots of tiny Cadet Marvels, hundreds of little girls of all colours, shapes, and beliefs, all in tiny uniforms and learning how to get back up when they fall down.  Do mainstream comics still have competitions in? Imagine some little reader getting to cameo in a Marvel movie!

Brie Larson with fans in Disney’s California Adventure on Friday, April 5

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When did creators become regarded as our dancing monkeys, exactly? 

Gotta say I’m feeling very loved and accepted by the number of people saying that because I am a creator of the things we all claim to be here on Tumblr to love, I have no normal human rights anymore.  That if I don’t want people to disregard simple, clearly-stated boundaries, I should wear a longer skirt and never let myself be alone with anyone.  Oh, I’m sorry.  We’re not talking about my physical body, so my consent is apparently no longer needed?

Tonight’s winner was “as a creator, you shouldn’t be interacting with social media like a normal human.”  I’m supposed to pretend to be someone I’m not, which is skeezy and presents a way worse power dynamic than “I am open about who I am and try to stay politely out of fan-only spaces,” so that people will allow me to have boundaries and to consent to forms of interaction I accept.

I try to be polite.  I really do.  But if you think content creators are no longer people, and no longer deserving of basic human respect and decency, I have some suggestions for what you can go and do.

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In the UK, we have the Dangerous Dogs Act 1991, which bans Pitbulls and three other breeds. If it had been a few years later it probably would have included Rottweilers as well. It was allegedly to prevent dog attacks, but the stats indicate that between 2005 and 2015 hospital admissions for injuries caused by dogs went *up* 76%. Also in the UK, we tend to be pretty committed to racism, but what really gets our hate-juices flowing is classicism. We love that shit, we’ve perfected it like a fine wine/can of Stella/three-litre bottle of White Lightning. And Pitbulls are not the choice of lawmaking classes. The moment Pitbulls were nicknamed “the builder’s dog” they were pretty much screwed as a breed. Whereas it’ll be a cold day in Hell before anyone in power appreciates the dangers of a ill-trained corgi.   Staffordshire Bull Terriers, affectionately known as Staffies, have taken up the place of the Pitbull in the nation’s affections, but the public at large appear to have forgotten that an old name for the Staffy was the Nursemaid Dog, because they’re so sweet around children.    Breed specific legislation is not about the dog breeds. It about which humans love them.  

The only reason Pitbulls are considered bad or dangerous dogs is because of racism and the only reason people are starting to realize they’re not is because white People are suddenly going “wow this racist stereotype we imposed on a dog typically owned by black people is wrong and we should fight against this without ever acknowledging it’s racist roots.” So yeah pitbulls were never bad dogs and we always knew that, y’all are just racist.

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When I read the first entry I thought that either I was going wrong or I knew a lot less about snakes than I thought. Then I read the sensible response, and realised that this was actually a tragedy.  

Rest in peace, little Jor

(This post is from my old account, which I deleted. It happened a year ago, but the message is still the same, so I will reblog it again in his memory. If this can help anyone, It will be worth it)

For everyone that didn’t know me before hand, this little cuddle thing here is my boy, Jormundgandr.

Jor perished two days ago. There’s nothing that we could do to help him, I’m not asking for “likes” or “follows”, but I want to explain his story. I adopted him when he was barely 30cm long. He was a Python Regius, a specie around 165cm in his adulthood. He was a baby, but even then most people considered him dangerous. Because he was a snake. Because snakes have no feelings. Because pythons are stressed easily. Almost everybody told me to keep him in his terrarium almost constantly, but it seemed unfair to me. Instead of keeping the terrarium in the humidity and heat necessary to him, I heated the entire room, so Jor could roam all over the place. His favorite spots were in my lap when I was reading or around my headbed when we were sleeping. 

The first time I put him in the bureau to sleep, he grabbed a plushie and threw it to the ground. Hearing the noise, I went to see what happened, and immediately he leaped right into my arms, so I had to put him in my headrest. It being summer in my city, the temperature was adequate to him, so I promptly began to go everywhere with him, as he wouldn’t let go of my hair or clothes.

I travelled with him in the subway, went to the bank, to the supermarket, to take a drink… He usually went around my neck like a necklace or entangled himself in my hair or around my ponytail.

While I sat, he would cuddle with me. Most people were curious about a snake in the subway or in a café, but instead of becoming stressed, as he had been in the streets since a baby, he let everyone pet and grab him, sometimes even prompting himself strangers to initiate the contact. His behaviour towards me was very expressive. He recognized me out of everyone. When he was sleepy, he came to me. When he was thirsty, he told me. Sometimes he didn’t want people to pet him and he literally jumped into my arms. Jor didn’t like people touching his head, but let me kiss him on the mouth every time I was very happy or a bit nostalgic. He promptly began to sense my mood-swings and came over to me when I was a bit sad. But the most surprising was the time he sneaked on my (pun intended) friend’s cat. He saw him and wanted to play. Of course, the feline scratched him, playfully. But he didn’t bite, he didn’t attack, only curled himself up very scared. We went running to the vet, and he was fine, only a bit scratched. Only then the man noticed a little bite in his neck, from the mice that he was supposed to eat. He was so fucking docile that his own food attacked him instead of the opposite! But his scales were very bright, sign of healthy and happiness, the wounds cured quickly. But that wasn’t the surprise. When I entered the room where jor was being examined, he was curled in a little ball of misery, and then I approached him, crying. When the snake sensed my touch, uncurled, stretched his neck and deposited his little mouth to my lips, as he ever did when he felt my sadness. Jor made this same movement every time he saw me cry… And not only this. He ate with me, bathed with me, and even slept with me. Three different vets said to me that jormundgander was convinced I was his mom. In the last comic convention in my city, where I had a little shop, he came and stayed with me all day.

He was on the table, playing with the merchandise, cuddling with people and letting us dress him in little cosplays.

When tired he would simply hide in my mobile case for an hour or so and then came out again (unless there was a cat, he was terrified of them after the incident).

That day he decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble to drink from a bottle cap and began to drink directly from my lips. But a few days ago, he couldn’t breathe. Only then we found out that the little bite in his neck had healed, but let a minor infection inside him that expanded to his lungs. He was so happy all the time that his scales never faded as it happens with sick serpents and none suspected anything. And even when he was dying, with me crying as I held him in my arms, even when he was barely moving and didn’t let anyone touch him (when capable of moving), he cuddled in my lap, searching with his head to touch my skin and made little movements as if to say that he was fine. So for all the dickhead people outta here that think those animals are dangerous by birth, that they had no feelings nor are they capable of getting attached. What about all the cuddling, the baths, the shiny scales? The kisses when I was sad? Am I supposed to believe that this all was a misinterpretation? That what all the fucking people around me saw was an illusion? So I will only say one thing to everyone that says and thinks that snakes have no sentiments: That’s BULLSHIT! Maybe his feelings are way more primitive than ours, or that of dogs, but those are feelings nonetheless, and they matter. So this is the story of Jormurgander, the evidence that if you show your love to them since youth, they will return your feelings, and will be as loyal and lovely as any other pet.

Rest in peace, little Jor. I’m sure noone that has met you in your life will forget you.

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I’m sure I had to memorise poetry like this at primary school.