#how much I'm eating

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Soup solves everything.

[lotus-pear]

cringefail exes oh my god

[layzeal]

ok I'm curious so put in the tags what country you are from and whether or not you own/use a rice cooker

[bixels]

Reminiscing about Little Witch Academia.

[inkskinned]

hey btw if you're in the USA at  2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.

if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.

additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.

i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."

"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.

[nightzskii]

???

I lost to my demons and got beat to a pulp sorry

[violent138]

Not that he needs to be high to do it, but Bruce Wayne totally gets high, lies on the floor and carries on a full conversation with the bats living in his Cave.

[kimtaegis]

three superheroes, anpanman! for @sopekooks ♡

cr. jung-koook

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[notbecauseofvictories]

also I've spent the last couple weeks reading some older historical romance novels, and my made up, wholly unverified hypothesis that in the 2000s romance authors finally grasped that the old-fashioned "no, don't! stop, you brute" etc. scenes were not really landing with audiences anymore. So they faced a conundrum about the future of the genre. Ultimately, I think they chose to quietly stop writing those heroes, and switch them out for a more sensitive model. Still dark and brooding! But with limits, often a Heart of Gold, and more general emotional intelligence.

Still, somewhere out there is a parallel universe where these authors decided to take the opposite approach---to write heroines as unhinged, cruel, impulsive, and emotionally ignorant as their heroes. I don't know if I want to live there, but I wouldn't mind a trip to their library sometime.

[thefirstknife]

Some lore tabs that killed me dead and I'll never recover from them. Seasonal gauntlets are about Zavala realising and coming to terms with the fact that he is mortal and has mortal pains. Also, finally, the full confirmation that Guardians resume aging when they lose their Light:

He moved his chair back and considered his knee. What had he done to hurt it? He had not exercised yet, he had not gone on his usual patrol… he had done nothing. Why would a knee hurt from doing nothing? The riddle dissolved. He was starting to age.

But also:

He allows a hand to rest on his aching knee. To venerate it. He feels it solid under his palm. It is his, it is real, it is both portentous and precious. He is aging. He will age. An absurd and joyous thought warms in his chest: how fortunate, to have lived long enough to grow old. How invaluable, to make the space between himself and the horizon matter. How much time is left? And is it best spent with his knees under a desk?

Genuinely crying over this. How fortunate to live long enough to grow old. Man. Also at the end he asks for a break for one week and Ikora offers him two weeks.

The next one just... I have no words. It has to be read in full. It's about Saint going through it, having memories of his past and also dealing with the guilt with what's happening to Mithrax. Truly every sentence in this one is a gutpunch all the way to the end. Excerpts:

The hum of activity was overpowering yet reassuring to Saint-14 as he stopped to watch an older Eliksni expertly weave fabric on a well-worn loom. The woven symbols were unique and unfamiliar to the Exo, but he watched in awe as an iridescent glow emerged within the vibrant cerulean cloth. Fit for a Kell, Saint mused to himself— Breath caught in his throat; hands shook— Flashes of memory echoed in his mind. All he could feel in this moment… was shame.

Saint remembering his crimes against the Eliksni and feeling shame.

He hurried past the weaver and through the crowd, landing squarely in front of a tea stand, a sample placed in his hand before he could open his mouth to refuse. He looked down. The opaque liquid steamed in his cup, pungent and medicinal. Like distilled Darkness, Saint realized— Breath caught in his throat; hands shook— Flashes of memory filled his sight. All he could feel in this moment… was sadness.

Tea reminded him of all the stuff with Osiris and he is not processing it well. I say excerpts but I have to put the rest entirely because like. Okay.

Saint placed his favorite keepsake, a small stuffed bear, on the Kell's throne. Gently, he adjusted the lavender ribbon at its neck; the crisp satin sat in stark contrast to the bear's hazy black eyes, to its slightly worn ear and well-loved fur. A gift, once a comfort to a child of the City. A gift, once a comfort to Saint in the face of loss, in the face of— Breath caught in his throat; hands shook— Flashes of memory swelled in his heart. Osiris. His strong laugh. His deep, soulful eyes. The warmth of his smile. Of his touch. Memories of comfort, but all he could feel in this moment… was guilt. Intense and overwhelming, like daggers cutting through him, sharpness bleeding through sweetness. Saint breathed deeply and stared at the medical equipment around the empty throne before him. "The cost of my joy," Saint whispered, and he wept.

He has a teddy bear. He once gave it to a child, but someone returned it to him when he was grieving about Osiris, to comfort him, and he'd kept it. And he put it on Mithrax's throne because he feels guilt that Mithrax is suffering because he helped him and Osiris.

I'm ending it all.

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 3 - Le Grand Bristot

[hussyknee]

TIL the Australian guy that put on the single greatest piece of improv theater ever caught on camera during his wrongful arrest passed away this August from cancer.

For those who don't know: in 1991 an investigator who suspected this man of credit card fraud called the cops on him at the Chinese restaurant where he was dining with a friend. To expedite the arrest, he led the police to believe they were arresting a high profile criminal of some sort.

Police surrounded the restaurant, corralled the waiting media (who had somehow gotten wind), and interrupted Karlson's lunch.

"He was as calm as anything," former police detective Adam Firman says of the moment he arrested Karlson in the restaurant.

"He was happy to go with us. Well, as happy as you can be, to be arrested. Until he saw all the media. And that's when he just went berserk."

The lines Karlson delivered have since become classic quotes in internet culture.

"Gentlemen, this is democracy manifest!" Karlson declares to the cameras as he's wrestled into the police car.

...

"As soon as we drove away, he stopped and he said, 'That was fun,'" Firman says.

"There was no fight getting him out of the car. Nothing. It was all put on for the cameras."

The drama behind the rant

The Brisbane police who arrested him that day didn't know that Karlson had been a criminal and a serial prison escapee. He was also a part-time actor.

By the time he was 34, Karlson had spent most of his life in homes and prisons.

His first escape was in 1966. He was on a train going from Boggo Road Gaol to face a breaking, entering and stealing charge at Maryborough Magistrates Court. He got out of his handcuffs and jumped off.

Two years later, after he had been locked up in McLeod Prison Farm on Victoria's French Island for another theft, he convinced a local fisherman to give him a lift to the mainland.

Three months after that, he was picked up in a stolen car carrying safe-breaking tools in Parramatta. Just before his trial, he impersonated a detective and walked out of his court cell. Finally, he was captured in an apartment on Sydney's North Shore.

That's when his life took a dramatic left turn.

Sentenced to eight years in Parramatta Gaol, Karlson was put in an unusually large cell with an inmate named Jim McNeil.

This chance encounter would become destiny manifest.

McNeil had heard about Karlson impersonating a detective, and he thought it was hilarious.

He welcomed Karlson into his cell. The two men bonded over making foul-tasting alcohol in the cell's washbasin from raisins and yeast, and shared histories.

They had both grown up poor, even by the standards of their rough-and-tumble neighbourhoods. Adults had abused them physically and sexually. And they'd both stolen and scammed a few shillings for their families when they saw the chance.

After encouragement from Karlson, McNeil wrote a play about cellmates who brewed grog. They put it on in prison, and Karlson played a leading role.

Both had discovered talents they didn't know they had. McNeil kept writing on his smuggled typewriter, and Karlson kept acting. The plays became a hit among young Sydney intellectuals, many who had been campaigning for prisoners' rights.

Within four years, their work got them out on parole a combined 13 years early.

Best friends

Karlson and McNeil's friendship continued outside the prison gates and they moved into a house in Richmond together.

The two men stuck out like sore thumbs in their new-found scene of artists and intellectuals.

Neither man had set foot in a theatre, but McNeil's plays were already being performed across Australia. He felt that, with the success of his plays, he'd never need to resort to crime again. On radio and in the press, he would give didactic rants about the brutality of the justice system.

Karlson, meanwhile, got parts in the prime-time crime dramas Homicide and Matlock Police.

They remained close.

"The lovely bloke. I love him," McNeil told an interviewer around the same time Karlson named his son Jim McNeil Karlson.

Karlson described them as best friends.

But McNeil's alcoholism killed him in 1982.

Karlson couldn't travel to the funeral in Sydney for legal reasons.

"I … with a bodgie [fake identity], booked up hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of flowers and wreaths," he says.

Final days

McNeil's plays weren't subtle. They were screeds aimed at a society that arrested and tormented unfortunate men for petty crimes.

"The message is: look what you're doing to people," he told one interviewer.

He went on to tell a story about an Aboriginal cellmate. "He was illiterate, he was poor. He had nothing. And he stole thruppence ha'penny. And then he got three and a half years. That's a penny a year.

"Prison is the best way to show what's wrong with the outside."

His final play was about two cellmates in Parramatta. He named it 'Jack', and finished it in a drunken haze.

"Do you know I'm here?" shouts Jack the character. "Do you give a f*** where I am? No. No, you don't give a f*** where I am. Pricks. Democrats."

Fifteen years later, Jack Karlson declared "Gentlemen, this is democracy manifest!" to the waiting cameras and an enduring audience.

It would be his most unforgettable performance.

From 7news:

So how did Karlson improvise a performance so poetic, so theatrical and so amusing?

“Of course, I was somewhat influenced by the juice of the red grape."

Karlson spent his last years as a painter, incidentally selling many paintings of his own infamous arrest, and helping make a documentary about his life that's yet to be released. He died aged 82, surrounded by family and was widely mourned.

"Tata and farewell" legend. Hope the internet never forgets you. ACAB forever.

[shannonsketches]

I just wanted to play with color on Toyotarou's art and I these panels spark the most joy