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the gooners

they’re everywhere

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hey

hey friend

dont kill yourself tonight ok

you have a really pretty smile and i know its not always easy to manage one but itd be a bummer if we never had the chance to see it ever again

youre really important and you matter a lot so stay safe and try and have a nice sleep

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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl 2003 — dir. Gore Verbinski

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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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the problem of fandom reducing characters who are women and/or people of colour to sexist/racist stereotypes is definitely aggravated by the fact that a lot of fans simply do not pay very much attention to these characters in the first place then subconsciously paper over the gaps in their perception with things they’ve been culturally conditioned to believe are true about people in the same category as said character

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forgive me if im being a bluh bluh huge bitch but i see this all the time with nonbinary characters and it’s especially irritating me with conversation about kris right now where people are like ok yes they’re nonbinary but we should probably discuss and like decide their agab . like even in stupid woke tumblr land you’re still pretty much inherently defined by your agab like because being an androgyne is too extreme a concept . does it bother anyone else people are saying theymab and theyfab as if that’s like cute and not just insinuating that your agab is an inescapable element of identity . like you can only ever be boylite or girllite . anyway im at work

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Warwick Reynolds (British, 1880-1926) - Prosperity

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I Met Human Teeth Guy Again, And Yes, He’s Still Mad That I Had To Call The Cops On Him.

This is 100% real and happened today, June 13th, 2025.

Long story long, I work at a printing and shipping company in a small town, and I run deliveries. I’m dropping off a box of envelopes we’ve printed and tell the guy he needs to sign the invoice. I’m jovial, he’s smiling, and he looks me dead in the eye.

“Do you recognize me?”

Uh…I’ve lived here a LONG time. I know a LOT of people.

I run down the list of people in my head he could be. Cashier? I haven’t been in a store since curbside became a thing. He looks vaguely like the guy who came to Evil Dead rehearsals drunk before the pandemic, but that’s not saying a lot. Probably a person I’ve done a project for at work.

He had a tight smile on his face and his fists were clenched as he offered the invoice back to me, so I assumed I’d had to give him bad news about a package at some point or I’d worked on a funeral poster for him.

“You look vaguely familiar,” I offered, “But I’m not super great with faces.”

“You called the cops on me.”

Holy.

Shit.

“Ah, I see.”

The two clients he was seeing when I walked in looked between the two of us as I snatched the invoice from his hand.

“Have a nice day.”

I book it to my car, because as soon as he said that, I remembered exactly who he was.

Human Teeth Guy.

Rewind to a year or so ago, this guy comes into my work with a box he wants to ship. It’s all normal, our new girl is practicing shipping and helps him out, no problems.

Until a little later when the whole office smells like weed.

PUNGENT. NAUSEATING. IMPROPERLY DISGUISED.

We have signage stating that we can look through suspicious packages. We have a shpiel we go through every time we take in a box.

“Does this contain alcohol, tobacco, firearms, illegal substances, exotic pets, small children, human remains, cash, or gift cards?”

We ask these things for a reason. Some things require special packing, some things you have to have a special license to send. Cash and gift cards aren’t  insurable, so if they get stolen, there’s nothing we can do and I like to let people know.

Marijuana cannot be shipped through USPS. Some people think it’s fine because it’s legal in a lot of places now, but it’s not legal to ship through the post office.

So, I get myself in full view of the security camera and I pop the box to make sure that it’s not just a box that had weed in it at one point. There’s a bunch of random stuff, a shirt, some rolling papers, and a Sour Cream and Onion Pringles can with scotch tape on the lid.

Look, I hate this kind of thing. If you’re going to ship drugs, don’t ship them in something obvious. Peanut butter was classic for a reason.

I pull the tape off, because I have to lay eyes on it, and out plops into my hand a plastic bag filled with nugs…

And a bunch of human teeth.

At first, I thought they were just some weird rocks, I’ve shipped weirder stuff, but the bloodstained roots quickly corrected me.

So, look, I didn’t know what the legality was for shipping teeth at the time. All I knew what that I had a Pringles can FILLED with weed, pillow stuffing, and HUMAN TEETH.

I stopped my search at that point. I wasn’t going to mess with that. We have a pretty robust drug trade in our town, the boss’s rule is that if you find something that you’re not allowed to handle, you call the police to facilitate.

I’m not a fan of getting cops involved, when people try to ship things they’re not allowed to, I typically call them and have them come get their stuff. They’re not usually happy, but they’re happier than if I call the police.

Well, guess who gave us a fake number?

So, I call. I report the human teeth, the drugs, and the other paraphernalia, and I ask if they can deal with it because I certainly don’t want to. They say they’ll send an officer over to pick up the package.

A week passes. No cops. I’ve called twice since then. The place stinks and I have nowhere to put it that won’t spread.

I call again, I say I’ve had it a week, I’m unhappy, send someone to get the box.

“Okay, we have someone on the way.”

Great. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Minutes later, who comes in, scratching himself raw and baring his teeth at my poor girl at the counter, but human teeth guy?

God hates me.

He’s livid. His box was supposed to be there already. Why hasn’t it gotten there? Did we steal it? Did we steal his drugs?

She’s in tears, he sees his box on the holding shelf and starts having a fit.

Why do we still have it?! What the fuck is wrong with us?!

So, since I get to be the one who throws their weight around here, I send her to go calm down and explain.

No, we didn’t send it because it reeked and it was illegal to ship. No, we can’t give you back the package, the police have already been called, no I can’t let you behind the counter to just take it.

The girl who went to the back has called the non-emergency line again to tell them that Human Teeth Guy is here and he’s angry.

The cop is there in two minutes.

Human Teeth Guy is escorted out of the building, snarling and screaming that we have to give him back his stuff.

Cop talks to him outside.

Cop comes back inside.

“You called us about drugs?”

“I called because we can’t legally dispose of his drugs and I couldn’t get ahold of him, but also because there are teeth in the Pringles can.”

“Teeth?”

Cop looks at the teeth.

“Yep, those are human teeth alright.”

Human Teeth Guy didn’t look like he was missing any teeth and these didn’t look or feel fake.

“So…what do you want to do here?”

“I don’t want to cause problems, he didn’t do anything to make me want to press charges of any kind, but he made my employee feel unsafe.”

“Got it. I’ll tell him he’s not allowed back and if he does come back, charges will be pressed.”

I hand the box with all of its contents to the officer.

“Good luck to you.”

Cop leaves. We watch Human Teeth Guy walk away from the building. Cop comes back inside, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“He doesn’t know where he got the teeth from.”

“What?”

“He says he doesn’t know where the teeth are from.”

Cop looks at me.

I look at him.

“If you see him around here, call us, okay?”

And that was the end, or so I thought.

It would hardly be worth commenting on this at all, we have seen a lot of WILD shit come through here, if it weren’t for where I saw him today.

Friends, tumblrs, countryfolks.

HE WORKS AT THE LOCAL FUNERAL HOME.

I guess I know where the teeth came from now.

But I have SO MANY MORE QUESTIONS.

And yeah, he’s still mad at me, which is exciting.

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Back on my freak...i need to draw them more

THERE IS MORE

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There are many perks to sharing life with an alien parasite a symbiote (nvm that venom’s the source of all Eddies “problems”/medical mystery/diy symbiote/hybrid parasite in the making…)

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One of me is cute, but two though?

was drawing pregnant Eddie Brock fanart on my 2024 to do list? no!! it’s just what happened ok? I wholeheartedly blame V3 for being so symbrock baby coded

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yeah

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Has this been done yet?

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My dad was a bit of a tearaway growing up. He still would be if it weren't for the advancing arthritis and my mother holding him back by his shirt collar for the last 50 years.

They both grew up in the slums of post-WW2 Glasgow. My mother talks about living in damp, mold-ridden basement flats and her mother owning multiple cats to keep down on the rats, while my father likes to recount how he grew up every night looking at the stars... through the hole in the roof.

He was also best friends with my mother's brother, which was how they met at the tender ages of 9 and 11 and got married ten years later. But before that, my dad was in a gang. They'd cut about the back streets with skinned knees, hand-me-down bikes rattling over cobblestone streets away from the polis. Mucky boots full of holes thudding over the tin roofs of the outhouses as they hopped the walls to avoid getting caught smoking—a habit my father laments he picked up at age 11 and has never been able to shake.

One time, in his mid-teens, my dad saw another boy getting the shit kicked out of him. Not an unusual site in that part of Glasgow back then, especially when the football was on and the bars spilled out into the streets with the drunken malevolence of festering religious bigotry that still, sadly, prevails to this day. But this was no honest scuffle. This was five to one, ten to one, depending on Dad's mood when he tells the story. And for all he was a scruffy wee toe rag who was no better than he ought to be, my dad had a firm sense of fairness, and the fight in front of him was not fair. So he jumped in and started battering the fuck out of people.

It's worth noting that my dad and I share many traits. Our humor, our love of words, and most notably, our height. My dad is 5ft 2 on a good day, 5'3" at a literal stretch. It earned him the nickname "wee barra," a name that's stuck to this day, even as my father shrinks with age and begins to resemble a Norman Rockwell-esque grandpa: silver-haired, red-faced with a smile that makes you think of Christmas.

Anyway, turns out the boy he rescued was the son of a reasonably well-known crime lord. The kind of mad cunt who'd give you a Glasgow Smile if you cut in front of him at the post office but who also donated to charity, loved his kids, and could be very kind and generous to a boy in over his head who saw an unfair fight and moved in to break it up.

I wouldn't say they became friends. More acquaintances you could nod at in the street. And when the time came for my dad to get down on bended knee and ask my Mum to marry him, that passing familiarity meant they got a discounted price at a local pub venue to host the wedding festivities. All proper posh and swanky. Or as posh and proper as a pub in the 70s could be.

Sadly, in the literal weeks running up to their wedding, my Mum's father grew sick and died. Lung cancer. It'd been eating away at him for years, and nobody knew. So while my mother sat by her father's deathbed, nursing him to the end, my father had to reschedule their wedding and help plan for a funeral instead. It was with no small trepidation he showed up at the pub and was led into a back room to say, "er, very sorry, but, er, we won't be going ahead with the wedding, er, would you mind waiting for the rest of your money... please?"

And this crime lord, this terrifying figure of a man, humphed and grumped and said, "very sorry to hear that, lad. Did things just not work out?"

So my dad explained about his future father-in-law, the funeral, and needing to help look after his future mother-in-law, and he recounts how the room got very still and quiet, and after a pause, this monster of a man renowned for violence turned toward the safe behind him, reached in and pulled out an envelope—the one my father had written "wedding deposit" on—and handed it back to him.

"Away and take care of your family, son," was apparently all he said, and my dad, clutching the envelope to his chest, nodded, said thank you about a million times, then legged it out the door.

I remember thinking the first time I heard this story, probably about the age of 9 or 10, still fully entrenched in the moral parables being taught to me every Sunday in a dusty church basement, that there was some higher moral to impart. Like how even the most monstrous of men could be capable of kindness and good and redemption. Upon voicing this, my dad laughed so hard that he inhaled his cigarette.

"Christ, no. Don't be daft," he said, between hacking coughs. "The lesson is don't owe money to the fucking mafia."

Anyway, that's the man who taught me right from wrong and how to read, write, and tell stories. It should probably help explain some things.

And today, we found out the cigarettes finally caught up with him. Lung cancer. We don't know what stage yet. He says he can breathe just fine, which is funny because I feel like I'm suffocating.

I don't know what to do.

But at least I don't need to tell a crime lord I can't pay him the rest of his money. Small mercies.

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I finished reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time in my life. With all of *vague gesture at everything* this going on.

I Am Not Okay

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uncle iroh is treated very much like a paragon of virtue in the series. yes we know he has had a violent past, that he has done terrible things, committed atrocities in the service of the fire nation— but we don’t really feel it because all of that had happened off screen and prior to the series. instead, he comes to us as a more perfect being and one deified with secret good deeds revealed throughout the story: uncle iroh is the keeper of the dragons and an important member of the white lotus, he is just that awesome.

uncle iroh is so divorced from his immediate past that we don’t see him haunted by any of it unless it’s by lu ten— which begs the question: did he really turn his back on the fire nation due to a moral awakening or was it only/mostly for his own good? he certainly doesn’t behave in a manner you’d expect from a repentant ex-imperialist: he’s not too worried about walking the streets of ba singe se, let alone actually staying there after the war ended. (the same war he participated in on the side of the aggressors, mind you.) he is shameless enough to be living there while hiding away and was unscrupulous in accepting hospitality from earth kingdom folks who were made refugees by the fire nation, i.e., song’s family. does he not feel guilty or at least uncomfortable with his circumstances, especially since it has only been 5 or so years since the siege at ba sing se and thus still very fresh in the grand scheme of things? is iroh just that Enlightened and At Peace with his past that it doesn’t color his every movement? or is his lack of a moral hangover just a writing oversight? were they scared to make their most lovable character in a rated TV-Y7 cartoon a tad more polarizing?

while uncle iroh does his job well for the story— that is, to act as zuko’s guiding light— i do wish he were knocked off his pedestal a bit more. uncle iroh is, after all, the proto-zuko to ozai’s proto-azula. i wish to see him at least slightly paranoid about people recognizing him from his military days and vice versa. i wish to see him uneasy about being in the earth kingdom (out of guilt? as opposed to zuko’s superiority complex and anger). i wish to see him meet another person who also has visible burn scars, one that has nothing to do with zuko/his family, and still look away in shame or disgust by the implications. et cetera et cetera. anything to indicate he feels something more about himself and other people that isn’t just Wise Old Man.