#I need to watch it 20 times more

[artisfaction]

Non spoiler Letterboxd reviews of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3

[driftsart]

GUYS YOU DONT KNOW HOW EXCITED I AM FOR THIS I'M SO NORMAL RN I NEED TO DRAW THEM I NEED TO DRAW THEM NOW KDJDKDDJKDKSSKSJ

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[seeminglyseph]

I think it matters a lot that a) everyone who has seeming offered to help Karna has done so *after* she needed it. And b) was in some way using her and therefore needed her.

In the eyes of a child, if you weren’t there when she needed you, and can’t even help yourself, what good are you to her?

[ascendingtostardust]

Greta Van Fleet - The Indigo Streak (Live From RCA Studio A)

[stuckinapril]

this is riveting u gotta give us an update in like 6 months.... wishing u luck on finding women in their 30s. ur gonna take so many classes

I actually will I am SO determined. people are always like “I wanna join clubs bc where else do you meet people you date” and I’m j like I wanna join clubs so I can become besties w women in their 30s

[thepringlesofblood]

anyone else having to go through fhjy at a snail's pace bc every time there's a teacher-student interaction (even the positive ones!) you want to set something on fire because of how much you hate high school and american academic culture and it throws you back to the Bad Old Days of actually being in high school, but also you really like fantasy high and you really like the characters and their story and the players and the way they're exploring & critiquing the US school system and basically everything about the show but actually watching it makes your brain explode?

[briarlovesclara]

(A Crown of Candy, Episode 7: Escape from the Bulb Creeps // Abbey by Mistki // A Crown of Candy, Episode 8: Deep Bleu Sea // Abbey by Mitski)

[aaabatteryy]

apologies to all the people that followed me for bsd stuff and are now watching me spiral into gravity falls and my occasional deadpool x wolverine (poolverine? i forgot the ship name) reblogs

[roguedemonwatcher]

Something unique about Actual Play as a genre is that the more fan service-y call back moments are highlighted immediately by the cast's reaction to them and that can actually go a long way to help your non-informed audience members. I am approx 13 episodes into campaign 2 and don't know this Essek person,* but the cast's excitement is infectious and I instantly understand the importance, even if I don't know the details. Plus Matt has always done a pretty good job at keeping things accessible to an audience that potentially hasn't seen previous campaigns.

Some recent reveals on Dimension 20 do this a bit too, and even if they help the audience a bit with clips or edits, there is still the cast's excitement that helps highlight a moment. I don't know if I have a larger point other than the immediate meta reaction of a call back is a fun quirk of the genre I enjoy. It's like a less obnoxious studio audience.

[lia404]

"Ai, living has no answer."

"When we're in pain, we search for an answer to feel better. A concise, absolute answer. But if you really want an answer… it's that there is no answer. There are no absolute in this world. Even if we think there is, in the end, it'll only make us feel better for a moment.

If there are no absolute, then what's left?

Bonds. Bonds between individuals. Bonds between one another. That's all there is.

That also changes with time. A huge trigger can cause a huge change. Bonds may be severed. But new bonds can also be formed. So living is a series of bonds.

That's what life is.

I have to do that forever?

Yes.

That's a lot of work.

Yeah.

I'd need to be so strong.

That's why people become stronger. That occasionally leads to conflicts. But even if that happens, we have to keep fighting. Keep searching for bonds, even if there's no answer.

You can't rush living."

So I saw on MyFigureCollection that October 13 was maybe possibly Yusaku's birthday, although I couldn't find any reliable source for this. I'd have loved to do something nice and light-hearted for the occasion, but I'm still feeling too strongly about it all. So here you are instead: Happy (maybe) Birthday, Yusaku! Please have some trauma to go with your trauma. Here's to another year of fending off expectations and looking for your own life and its non-answers with eyes wide open and always filled with hope.

[fantasymoongirl999]

Omg why did no one tell me about Ninjago????

I swear the fandom and this show have me in a chokehold!!!

I'm over here close to tears on the couch watching a show made for 7 years olds and hysterically yelling “Just let the child have his father!”

Like duuuude!!

I was obsessed with the movie when it came out, how in the world did I not know there was a whole 15 seasons of this??? And apparently an entire new series??? Huh????

Literally these past few months I have done nothing but unhing my jaw and Kirby slurp Ninjago content. (You fanfiction writers are amazing!! You guys have single handedly ruined my sleep schedule and have infested my mind!) My friends are so tired of hearing me talk about this dumb show, but my gosh I will not give this up until they join me!!

[kira-light0-but-i-reblog-stuff]

I'm watching Star Trek: The Animated Series for the first time, and I'm only 52 seconds in, and I'm already smiling so much it hurts. It feels unreal to hear "new" (at least for me) content from the cast. I love star trek so much.

[skrunksthatwunk]

hey do any of y'all know how saejima refers to daigo? i've dug through like 4 games worth of cutscenes and can't find it for the life of me </3

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Knitting is singlehandedly destroying my wrists, so I need to replace its role with another creative hobby. Please give me any suggestions you may have!

Requirements are:

-Can't destroy my wrists further, at least not as fast as knitting does

-Should be reasonably inexpensive and not too daunting to start

-Calming would be nice

-Textile arts are a plus :)

-Obscure is welcome

[major-richard-sharpe]

barry keoghan bootcamp video diaries when