#I am delighted this exists

[saintartemis]

Today, I was delighted to learn that there is a Time Team Drinking game and it is everything I thought it would be.

[bryverros]

i am, as always, late to the party but them <3

[ot3]

Hello! Did you know there's a 3ds house md game?

holy fucking shit

[addie4ddie2005]

Saved this clip cuz it made me giggle :o)

He said BARK BARK WOOF AWOOHOHO

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

have i mentioned how great cats are. there's a lil guy in my house and when i lay my head on her side she starts purring so hard <3 and ten seconds later she will try to open my wrist with her teeth <3 truly the best <3

[lathrine]

i think it's really impressive that everyone is so taken with the lesbians that i havent seen a SINGLE shot of Sissel/Thistle. like, i am not lightly trawling the tag. its lesbians as far as the eye can see-- in bed together, naked and bathing, covered in blood. not a single shot of a mysterious pretty elf man.

i dont think ive ever before seen a fandom that would scream about lesbians over an ominous pretty boy and i am DELIGHTED

[ride-a-dromedary]

Whenever Halsin giggles, or does that little hum of a chuckle, every protective instinct in my brain synapses instantly lights up.

[chiropteracupola]

Will you be ready, when your moment comes? Will your hand be steady, when you reach down for your guns?

[alan breck stewart, cowboy edition - requested by anonymous]

[field-of-sungflowers]

I love that Doctor Sung's smile is the ideal of :D

[thresholdbb]

i have a VOY confession: I skipped Threshold because the rating on imdb was SO so low... is it required viewing???

I was holding off on this question so I didn’t give you the most insane rambling answer, so thank you for your patience. Short answer: I definitely think it’s worth a watch. I, thresholdbb, am obviously biased about this, but imo Star Trek isn’t quite Star Trek without its delightfully campy side.

Threshold is often pointed to as the worst episode of Star Trek, and it has also been voted as such. That said, it really isn’t that bad. The science is iffy at best, but it’s science fiction and that part gets a pass in my book. It only veers into the ridiculous in the last act, otherwise it’s actually not bad. If it didn’t take a hard left at the end, people probably wouldn’t rag on it as much as they do.

Tom Paris has some excellent moments and Robert Duncan McNeill was having a blast being a mutant, chewing up all the scenery. The EMH has a bit that makes me laugh every time. Janeway is delightful as always. Plus, the episode won an Emmy for make-up.

Really though, I love what episodes like Threshold (and the like) represent: a willingness to take risks. Some of that has been lost in the bigger budget productions that have come after (they’re coming back around), but I unabashedly adore that these “bad” episodes exist. Plus now we get to poke fun at and enjoy hyper-evolved salamander babies for eternity. What’s not to celebrate?

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[chilapis]

I think every moment is eternal in its own right and we hold no authority to deny it that status. Even if it is a forever that will escape our memories, it’ll still exist as a forever in the history of time. In the memories of no-one but the Earth itself. In the records kept and made by no-one, where everything is stored for all time to come. No love is lost and no existence truly unacknowledged.

[pseudospectre]

Do you love this skull? And the old internet? And attribution? You might like this :)

[tracle0]

Elan :)

[white-weasel]

Zero escape merch that says “I survived the nonary game and all I got was this lousy shirt”

[kakusu-shipping]

hi omg your tags on my post have given me SO much motivation i need to figure out a s/i design it'd be so fun to have our self inserts interact....... also thank you for reminding me i need to watch more mushishi i really enjoyed the little bit of it i watched - @popdearest

BANGING ON THE TABLE

Mushishi is my FAVORITE anime EVER and I simply want everyone to watch it please watch it and tell me what you think and if you end up joining the Aro!Ginko Polycule there's quite a few of us and there's always room for more <3