#he's making history

[dinosaurwithablog]

At this point in Aaron Judge's career, the highest OPS achieved by Yankees players at the same time in their careers goes as follows... Lou Gehrig, Aaron Judge, Mickey Mantle, and Joe DiMaggio. That's some great company. Only Lou Gehrig has done better than Aaron Judge in slugging and getting on base at this point in his career in all of Yankees history. That's an amazing achievement!! He's one of the best players for sure and the best all around player ever to have graced a baseball diamond in my humble opinion. He's still relatively young, and he's gonna keep getting better and breaking records!! I love this photo because the impish grin on Aaron's face makes me think that he is realizing all the great things he's gonna do for himself, the Yankees, and the game of baseball as a whole. It's gonna be a wild ride!! I can't wait to see what happens!!😊😍😁🤗 you go, Aaron!!! Do your thang! Let's go Yankees!!!!!

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[starii-void]

going to chb must be crazy like imagine sharing a camp with

-one of the strongest demigods ever who's saved the world like at least 3 times, fought multiple gods & titans and WON (and is a tartarus survivor)

-the literal main architect of OLYMPUS who's also saved the world multiple times (also tartarus survivor)

-THE lord of the wild who's also close friends with the first two (and has helped save the world multiple times)

-an emo kid from the 1930s who again helped save the world and is also a tartarus survivor (TWICE)

-a son of apollo who survived tartarus with nothing but cargo shorts and sheer will (pun intended)

-the main designer and builder for the argo II, also the first hephaestus kid to have fire powers since hundreds of years ago (did i mention killed gaea? no? yeah he did that too)

-a girl who somehow charmspeak-ed gaea into falling back asleep (also side note daughter of super famous actor because why not)

-pretty much everybody is a two-time war veteran

-THE GOD APOLLO who just sometimes comes down to visit in the form of a teenage boy

-did i mention dionysus, god of wine madness and theatre

-also chiron, trainer of pretty much every greek hero ever

[tempo-takoyaki]

"It would be my pleasure to give you a proper tour and introduce you to everyone."

Here is my full illustration for @svsssbigbang for the fanfiction Night at Cang Qiong Museum by @adventure-waffles! An incredible Night at the Museum x Scum Villain AU! Don't hesitate to also check out the other two artists incredible pieces for this fanfiction: dustmeadowx and qiye!

And since I know that tumblr tends to destroy the quality of my illustrations, here are some close-ups under the cut:

[tibli]

i have been trying to figure out why the whole 'fae god' and katniss everdeen things with kendrick lamar on here were bothering me, and i think i finally put it into words.

most posts like that are probably coming from well-meaning white people (i am also partially a White People, to be clear), who otherwise dont really listen to rap. they cannot find a way to 'relate' to this black man who sings largely about issues that affect the black community– and rather than try and meet him where he is, they have to fit him into these little tumblr cultural boxes before he can be 'palatable' to them.

they have to shave off the rougher/more abrasive aspects of his work and activism because it makes them uncomfortable, that way they can pigeonhole him into something that allows them to enjoy his work without the critical analysis that MUST come with it

he is not your fae god, he is not a YA protagonist, he is not a little gremlin or a cinnamon roll or a blorbo. He is a human being with opinions and beliefs that deeply permeate his work, and to ignore that truth is to ignore the entire point. PLEASE try to engage with artists' work outside of the lens of tumblr fandom, and i mean that as nicely as possible. you are doing YOURSELF a disservice

[ravencromwell]

Rereading Dickens Christmas Carol for the first time in a long time. And the more I reread, the more it strikes me how seamlessly a queer reading could slip within these pages. Not an especially twee reading, wherein all Scrooge's troubles start and end with grief over Jacob Marley's death. For we know that Scrooge was a "Tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!" And we know that he and Marley were "two kindred spirits"

And perhaps that very fact makes the similarities to queer life, unintended as they most likely were by Mr. Dickens, achingly poignant to me. Scrooge is, we're told, "secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster." How much that resonates, for so many of us who shield our innermost selves but from a select group of friends. And we know that Scrooge and Marley were, at the very least, certainly that for one another. Scrooge is Marley's sole mourner; his sole executor and beneficiary; and even Dickens notes, "friend." How reminiscent is that of queer couples across history, estranged from their families?

Scrooge lives in a set of chambers that once belonged to Marley—clearly Dickens wanted us to believe Scrooge gave up his own dwellings after Marley's death to economize. But with only a flicker of change, those chambers become _their chambers, rented by Marley as the senior member of the couple. The place is so desolate Dickens notes "one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again." The perfect abode for two queer misers who wanted no one prying into their business.

Marley's name is still above the door of Scrooge's counting-house: a mark by which, no doubt, Dickens meant to convey Scrooge such a penny-pincher he couldn't bother to have it changed. But a thing can be both! mark of frugality to ludicrous excess and! mark of mourning. "sometimes," Dickens opines, "People new to the

business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him."

This is why "death of the author" matters so much, in expanding our interpretations of texts. It is vastly far from the lens Dickens would have intended. But, the idea of a ghost of queerness, so taboo in the society it could barely be glanced at sidewise in this tale that is all about the inexplicable and yet that lingers over everything becomes an astonishing lens through which to read this book. Thinking of Scrooge as a queer man, his "melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern" becomes a eerie prefiguring of the hollowness of days spent by Isherwood's A Single Man. In this universe, little wonder Scrooge doubly hates mention of time with family, marriage, etc. when the precise nature of his grief is both unacknowledged and unacknowledgable.

And readings like this are vital, because the uncomfortable truth is, discrimination doesn't "discriminate between sinners and saints", to borrow a Miranda phrase. It is easy, in my liberal circles, to fight for queer people who hold "the good sorts of politics". But what about men like Michael Hess, culpable for supporting Reagan even as his contemptuous homophobia let the aids epidemic run rampant? How much harder is it to remember Michael had a partner? That he deserves empathy and compassion for being practically tarred and feathered out of the party upon his own aids diagnosis?

Expanding our imaginative universes to include queerness, not as redemptive panacea, but merely as one aspect of identity, personality, often in vicious conflict with others. Even! as we consider those stories equally worthy of being told feels vital if we're ever to truly express the complexity of what queer humanity looks like.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

He's a used car salesman. He has a heart of gold. He can't parallel park. He has two gay witch italian dads. He chops the wood. He has a magical talking cat mom. He's an assassin. He isn't an assassin. He's actually the cat from earlier. He's trans (female cat to male human). He's been shot through the heart. He was in Dewar. He was not in the war. He was in Dewar. He's on his last of nine lives. He just had a marble shoved down his throat. He's even bisexual. I didn't say his name, but he popped into your head, didn't he?

[aethersea]

I do think Blazing Saddles handled its one depiction of native americans very poorly, and the full extent of its representation of chinese workers on the railroad is they were literally just there. not even one single speaking line. unclear if this is worse or better than the redface.

it's fucking phenomenal at lampooning antiblack racism though. extremely blatant, extremely funny satire, which is constantly and loudly saying "racism is the philosophy of the terminally stupid at best and morally depraved at worst, and we should all be pointing and laughing at them 24/7"

plus the main character is a heroic black man who has to navigate a whole lot of bullshit but is constantly smirking at the extraordinarily stupid racists and inviting the audience into the joke. the one heroic white character is a guy who was suicidally depressed until he met the protagonist and they just instantly became buds, and he's firmly in a supporting role the whole time and happy to be there. the protagonist saves the day with the help of his black friends from the railroad, and uses the position of power he was given to uplift not only those friends, but all the railroad workers of other minorities too, in an explicit show of solidarity.

anyone saying "Blazing Saddles is racist" had better be talking about its treatment of non-black minorities. it had better not be such superficial takes as "oh but they say the n-word all the time" or "they have nazis and the kkk in there!" because goddamn if that's the full extent of your critique I very seriously suggest you read up on media analysis. there is too much going over your head, you need to learn to recognize satire.

[wormsdyke]

normal show by a estranged producer normal guy

[mohntilyet]

illario as the grandchild that is most like caterina is something i'm loving to chew on. the grandson that took her lessons to heart the most. kill anyone who sees your face and knows your name, "we are not revolutionaries", the first out of the two to prioritise the contract. power at any cost, and the only one to lean into the unnecessary abuse that their grandmother told them was tradition. why is anyone surprised he allied with the venatori? and then there's illario's considerable skill in infiltration and manipulating any mark, he has always had the charisma that lucanis lacked. illario isn't attached, he has/can/will use someone and immediately drop them; "that does free me from promises i don't intend to keep". he can lie about how much he cares so well that he fools a magister into believing he loves her. he kills zara without hesitation to cover his own tracks, meanwhile lucanis blindly promises a young girl in the middle of a siege that he will help her find her father. even the lessons about family stick with him, and in this entire messy power struggle, he never actually orders anyone to directly kill caterina or lucanis, not until he's backed into a corner.

and even after all that. despite even lucanis believing illario should be first talon, lucanis is still the better killer. illario is not strong enough to be the brutal assassin caterina needs him to be. so when lucanis seems to fill the role his mother left, grief and love for her dead heir apparent remains, and any of the other qualities caterina needs in her next talon doesn't matter. whatever his mother was, lucanis has to be. what illario does doesn't matter, because he will always be second best to caterina's memory of her favored daughter.

[dungeonrabbits]

"chilchucks a real hater"-wrong! chilchucks a lover!!

[peatbogpirate]

A low effort polar comic for today: important Antarctic preparations

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[aaron04jpg]

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 162

“So,” Danny drawled from where he was sitting, legs kicking slightly. Really, what a fun reincarnation. A world with heroes and villains where he didn’t have to do shit in and could just vibe with Ellie. 

“So,” Tim responded from where he was typing on his computer, mostly in civilian clothes save for his gauntlets and boots. The Red Robin outfit was haphazardly dropped across the couch and his pole leaning against the end. 

“Technically there’s proper procedures for clones…” Danny motioned to both himself and Ellie from where they sat on the counter, snacking on a plateful of scones. From Alfred, he was certain. 

“Technically, yes… but do we want to actually do that?” 

All three of them smiled, something almost feral in the motion. Of course not. They all had the same memories after all, and Bruce had just returned from the past, from exactly where and when Tim had said he was. Despite no one believing him, hence why they were in his boathouse, and not in the apartment or manor. 

“Think we can pull it off?” Ellie took a sip of tea, mischief swirling in her eyes. 

“Of course we can.” Both Danny and Tim spoke at once, one pulling up a new doc and the other pulling the whiteboard out from under a curtain. 

[s0fter-sin]

kneeling is a broad term for what ghost does with price

surrendering is slightly more accurate but even that doesn’t hope to touch the sheer desperation in the way he clutches at him; his body bowed low at his feet, his legs latched around one of his, hugging it so tightly to his chest his arms shake as he digs his face into his thigh

it’s only here that he can finally give in to the screaming; to the distant voice he strangles into silence every day of his life. the one who begs him to make himself as small as possible; do everything he can to hide from the ever encroaching demons growling and salivating at his heels

it’s only here, in the dark of price’s barracks, hidden by a bed at his back and a wall to his front, that he finally lets himself stop running; only between solid combat boots and worn fatigues does he let himself tremble and admit to the choking fear

he’d break open price’s chest if he could; crawl past his gushing viscera and curl up under his ribs, hidden in the warm dark

ghost clawed his way out of the grave with broken nails and gritted teeth but he wouldn’t mind being buried again if it meant being cradled in the safety of price’s insides. his warm blood and soft lungs would blanket him, mask the stench of his rotten flesh until he could even convince himself that, maybe, he too was still alive

he shifts, unnerved by his own longing, and price runs his hand over the crown of his mask the same way he’d card it through his hair until he settles once more

he grounds him over the long hours it takes for his white-knuckled grip to relax into a loose hold; for his face to stop grinding into the meat of his thigh and simply rest in his lap, his bracketing legs the only thing holding his lax body up as he floats, untethered by fear