#this is really neat for people who might honestly need the thumbnails to be this big!

[ashtonisvibing]

i'm gonna need youtube to give me an option to change the layout back to smaller thumbnails real quick because what is this-

[nosecondivelived]

my favourite video essays!! (except i don’t know what qualifies as a video essay and am horrible at summaries. just go with it 💯. i think? tws are quite obvious from the video thumbnails, but if anything needs to be edited lmk.)

This wikipedia article hides a sorrowful secret- Lily Alexandre

A video about two things, a poem found within an old version of the wikipedia page for the fermi paradox, and the creator’s own grief dealing with her grandmother’s death. They may not seem related, but to me they were.

Abortion and Ben Shapiro - Philosophy Tube

Essentially a breakdown and refutation of Ben Shapiro’s anti-abortion argument. Honestly just anything by Philosophy Tube tbh. She is actually hilarious at times and makes bomb ass videos with an absurd amount of research behind them.

Defunctland: The bizarre Garfield dark ride - Defunctland

A video essay exploring the history of and behind a now closed Garfield amusement park ride. The first of two Garfield related videos to make me cry on this list <3

John Mulaney: Could we see this coming? -Ro Ramdin

A video exploring why people were shocked when John Mulaney essentially condoned a transphobic act as his opener. (sorry if that summary is inaccurate, i did not watch clips of the event itself and it has been a while since i watched the video above.) Again, anything by Ro honestly, she is one of THE funniest people on youtube.

These videos traumatised children: The dark legacy of Elsagate - wavywebsurf

I clicked on this video purely out of nostalgia, but it was actually surprisingly entertaining! Spiderman-Elsa videos define who I am as a person and it’s really neat to find out what actually was up with them looking back.

A look inside the war on Pokemon - hazel

A video discussing the reaction to Pokemon when it first debuted. Mostly focusing on the ‘satanic panic’ side of it.

The autistic horror of Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared - Patricia Taxxon

DHMIS is one of my favourite horror-ish series, and while it unsettled me, I never found it scary per se. I love seeing how people’s brains and life experiences affect what they perceive as frightening, even if it’s not ‘scary’? I’m not explaining this well, but it’s a dope ass fucking video. Might not be the best way to describe it considering the tone of the video, but I don’t know what else to say

Every Zelda is the darkest Zelda - Jacob Geller

A video discussing the ‘darkness’ of the different games in the Zelda franchise, how ‘darkness’ isn’t measurable by ‘most to least’ and having something be ‘dark’ doesn’t make it good. Cried at the end 👍 10/10

What the internet did to Garfield - Supereyepatchwolf

I feel like the thumbnail and title is pretty self-explanatory? But it’s a video analysing Garfield, why it’s so popular, and (surprise) how the internet changed it. Made me cry. Also I religiously rewatch the lasagna cat section of this, it was what led me to the analog horror genre! (Though I don’t know if lasagna cat is horror exactly?)

The mythology behind Hades - Ludiscere

I love you, Hadesgame. Supergiant I’ll sell you my left kidney if you let me have Hades 2 now

[aspiratinganxiety]

Christmas Dinner Part II

The much awaited final chapter of the Christmas dinner prompt! This is pure fluff with a delectable finish, if I do say so myself. The first part of this fic can be found here.  

I am so sorry that I had to repeatedly bump back the post date for this piece. You guys were so excited for it, and I swear that I got it to you as soon as I could. I’ve had a couple of weeks with a new job and some stuff that needed to get done around the house for the change in season. 

As always, I am grateful for your patience, and I would love to know what you think of my work!

(Side note: If you want to be added to a taglist, let me know. I don’t really have one yet, only a small one for Part II of the Ballerina/Dick fic. Not really sure if anyone is interested. Drop me an ask or message me if you’d like to be tagged in my work, and please specify if there are certain triggers that you’d like not to be tagged in.)

"Just make sure to act... ya’ know.... natural. Like we willingly spend time with one another romantically. Also please, please do not take Jason’s bait. He’s always an especially bitter pill during these parties. I don’t know why. It’s just like, one of his things. One of his many things. Oh! And remember-”

“Christ on a bicycle, Tim!” you interrupt him, patience completely evaporated. “I know how to be a girlfriend. I’ve been in more relationships for an amount of time that totals longer than your go with Stephanie. I know all the weird quirks with your family, even Jason. I understand what jokes not to make. All of my major etiquette lessons were from Alfred himself, and I don’t drink. Won’t make a habit of it in front of Bruce as an underage date to the only son functioning as a public figure for Wayne Enterprises. I get it. I know. Chill the fuck out and get off my back, or I’m going to punch you in your bird throat.” 

Usually, you do not threaten violence to anyone, especially people as kindhearted as Tim. Jesus God though, 45 minutes of his frantic dictation about your expected behaviors and you’re ready to strip off your bribery gown, roll out of the moving car buck-ass naked, and hoof it back to your apartment in the snow.

You have enough anxiety of your own, poured into a buh-jillion dollar dress that was made to push your boobs up to your chin and mold your butt into some kind of evergreen-colored peach. You can barely walk in your shoes, you’re wearing jewelry that cost more than your education, you are terrified that Damian might mistake your fake fur for the real thing and try to murder you on the spot, and the flower crown braided to your head is made of poky pine twigs, baby pine cones, and glittery sugared berries that are all working together to make your scalp itch worse than the week and a half you spent fighting a colony of lice in the fourth grade.

Fucking Lacey Whitaker and her four-feet of infested hair...  

In short, you want to die and you haven’t even tried to lie to Batman yet. 

“Wow.” Tim blinks, mouth scrunched into an unimpressed line. 

You sigh, hanging your head. “Tim, I am not going to punch you. That would be unkind and, frankly, a stupid move on my part.” You shake your head. “Not a fight I can win.” 

“I’m honestly less offended by the punching and more hung up on the bird throat comment.”

You cut your eyes at him, incredulous. “Yeah, well, that scarf isn’t exactly doing you favors.” 

He balks, jaw falling open. “Okay, first: you must be going blind. Francisco hand delivered all of the accent notes for my attire, including this scarf, so that I would match your dress. The one that you picked. The one that is on your body this very minute, if you would recall. The botanical embroidery is even consistent. So, yeah.” He motions to the fitted portion of the gown that can be seen hugging your thighs below the hem of your fluffy false fur coat. “Second observation: you are hella’ mean when you have The Anxiety, and I did not intend to fan that flame.” 

“Well, you’re hella’ bossy when you get nervous. Not a great combination to be crammed in a sports car together.”

“Noted,” he says, pulling the scarf looser.

The rest of the drive is somewhat tense as you both deeply question your life choices and rehearse the practiced cover story about first dates and whatnot. The sidewalk that leads to the main entrance of Wayne Manor is mercifully devoid of ice, having been flawlessly scraped and salted ahead of time. Alfred greets the two of you with a broad smile and ushers you into the bright, impeccably decorated foyer. 

“Happy Christmas,” he says, looking down at you in his warm, if distant, way. “Aren’t you a sight, Miss?” 

You acknowledge the compliment as Alfred hangs Tim’s coat and scarf, ducking your head in an awkward cross between a nod and a bow, frantically trying to peel the fur coat away from you before Damian gets a look at it. 

It is then that Tim sees the bodice of your dress for the first time. He stares, too struck by the full effect of the incredibly intricate, fitted garment to be ashamed that he is staring. The gown envelops you tightly from your bust to just below your hips, flowing seamlessly into rounded pool of silken fabric at the floor. Delicate lacework that echos the embroidery running throughout the piece act as wide, gossamer straps that tip over your shoulders and dive into what the cut of the dress would indicate to be a deep hemline baring a good portion of your back. With the high notes of red in your wreath, on your shoes, and staining your pretty, pretty lips, it’s hard for Tim to decide if the incredibly flattering silhouette created by your gown is more provocative than the contrasting, complimentary colors of forest green and holly-berry red that work to draw eyes up and down your body, then back up again... and down.... and up.

It is Alfred’s voice, chastising him, that breaks Tim out of his awed silence. “Take her coat and put your tongue back in your mouth immediately, Master Timothy.”

“Right!” he says, closing his eyes with a nod and stepping toward you. And again quietly, he almost sighs, “Right.” 

You hand him the fur, somewhat confused. Meeting his eye, you attempt to convey a look that asks whether or not he’s begun acting. After all, it’s only Alfred, and you both knew that there was zero hope of convincing the brilliant Englishman from the get. Tim was relying on the gentleman’s steadfast discretion to allow him this Christmas of peace from his brothers. 

Your initial reaction to Tim’s obvious admiration isn’t playful banter or a controlled taunt, as rehearsed. Rather, you are overwhelmingly flattered and suddenly battling an absolute tidal wave of uncharacteristic bashfulness. Heat burns in your cheeks from more than the rush of blood brought up by the warm house as you pass off your coat. Tim seems genuinely embarrassed too, as he avoids touching your hands and keeps his body far from you, using the full length of an outstretched arm to snag the outerwear. The left side of his face is crumpled in an apologetic wince, and the expression cuts clean through you. The bubble of your sheer delight implodes into a million little radiant drops as you try to decide whether or not the wince means he regrets having found you an attractive sight. 

That is not how boyfriends who enjoy your dress behave. Tim’s presenting a friend reaction, a friend who is afraid of having objectified or offended you. You steel yourself against the rush of anxiety that previously dimmed your flattered reaction and accept that you are gonna’ have to hem this tattered patchwork of a plan all by your lonesome if it’s going to be believable.

The Red Robin’s body language indicates that he’s all but thrown in the towel here at the door. 

And so, you take a deep breath, unfolding the neat, tidy little booklet of repressed feelings that you’ve been harboring in the pockets of your heart since you were 15, and you let yourself smile at him.

Really smile. The way you do when his back is turned. When his woefully dedicated or unimaginably funny words are in text. When you know it’s safe and no one will see the way that you smile for Tim.  

Your lips curve up a bit wry, teasing but encouraging. Teeth flash, a porcelain sign advertising your giddy joy and the silly sense of eagerness you allow yourself to feel, all-too-easily engaging the fantasy that this is a real date. Your shoulders half-shrug, and you catch the perfectly manicured nail of your ring finger between the knuckles of the opposite third and fourth fingers, running the corner of your thumbnail beneath it. The gesture is a nervous, fiddling one that communicates that damnably predominant shyness creeping up again.

You keep his eyes too, pegging him with an expression that communicates all of the softness and the intensity that you’ve been fighting to hide for so long. 

Tim goes stone still, like he’s been struck by lightening and his brain decided to exist stage left for intermission. He stares at you, staring at him like he’s answered some kind of prayer by grabbing your coat. 

For a brief, breathless moment, he feels like Gods must.

He’s dizzy with the sensation. It echos from his temples through his skull, then all the way down to every toe. A reverberation of unmitigated glory as delivered by the expression of someone he loves.

Nobody has ever looked at him that way. 

Not even right after he saves their life.

“Heavens,” Alfred mumbles behind him, a shared note of awe in his voice. 

Tim jerks, having completely forgotten where he was, why he’d be there, or that other humans who weren’t you existed at all.

The older gentleman relieves Tim of the coat, casting a prideful, knowing look over the much younger man. “I’ll just take that. Everyone is socializing in the parlor. Go on to the party, and I will call when the dinner preparations are in order.”

Tim, grateful that Alfred habitually motioned both of you toward the heavy mahogany doors that lead into the front sitting room, realizes that he somehow lost all memory of the manor’s blueprint. He also cannot recall the name of Damian’s dog.

“Well,” you say, waiting until Alfred bustles away before leaning toward him with a much more contained smile. You nod toward the parlor, a curl falling from its place pinned to your crown. 

“Uh,” Tim delays, closing his eyes and giving his head a quick shake. He dares to step closer to you and carefully brushes at the strand of loose hair. “Actually, do you think it would be okay if... um.... well, I was wondering if you’d like the plan being that this-” he motions between the two of you. “This was less for pretend and more for real?”

He speaks so quietly that you are straining to hear him. Beyond that, what you can make out of his words seem to imply a notion that has your heart hammering so hard that it isn’t leaving any room for your lungs to expand.

You get closer and whisper more distinctly. “More real how?”

“Like, real real.”

“You are not helping me understand, Tim,” you hiss, feeling rather vulnerable and unsure.

He grins haltingly, schooling his features into a gentler expression before balancing your chin on his thumb and forefinger. Tim tilts your face up, sure to keep gauging your reaction to his approach with inquisitive looks and plenty of pauses. Your eyes flutter shut after the tip of his nose presses into yours playfully, and he angles his head to brush past the bridge of your own nose and nuzzle into your cheek. 

Time stops again when you’re on the very cusp of kissing, lips together in a tickling brush with warm puffs of breath mingling between you. “Is this okay?” he asks, the press of his mouth to yours causing you to silently mirror the formation of his words. 

“Uh-huh,” you answer a susurrant hum, eyes still closed and oh so excited for a proper kiss.

“Ah, crap.” Jason’s voice booming out of the parlor behind you has both you and Tim jumping out of your skins. “That’s 60 bucks to Selina, guys! Turns out Timbo and Bo-peep are an item after all. They’re kissin’ in the foyer like animals! Catwoman takes the pot.”                                 

[zhumeimv]

Ryan Reynolds Lied To His Daughters About Deadpool

Ryan Reynolds Lied To His Daughters About Deadpool

Date: 2019-09-14 18:00:05

[aoa id=’0′][dn_wp_yt_youtube_source type=”101″ id=”jkP4StrKckk”][/aoa]

Ryan Reynolds is one sneaky rascal. In response to a fan on Twitter asking whether it was okay to screen Reynolds’ hit Deadpool for his four-year old, the star offered a bit of tongue-in-cheek advice: lie your face off, a tack he claimed to have taken with his own daughters.

Reynolds is known far and…