#to be consumed in less than 30 seconds

[philologicalbat]

you've heard of "this meeting could have been an email." now get ready for "this 10-minute video could have been five bullet points."

[newtness532]

also look who finally got enough motivation to study again

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[halfricanloveyou]

right because fucking coca-cola is a luxury product made from the blood of child slaves and is inherently evil

the consumer is not the one exploiting the working class. the working class is not you know good and goddamn well coca cola is not a luxury product. things people can buy with food stamps or 2 weeks of loose change are not luxury products.

*You should recognize bad practices AND not voluntarily support companies through conducting business (i.e. purchasing luxury products).

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗗 - part one — x reader (fluff) “. . . you were close to wining your first world title, until you weren't.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests | taglist ) ( next )

The amount of concentration a formula one driver needed was beyond compare. Holding p1 against Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen was consuming every bit of energy strength and concentration you stocked up in your soul.

You were so close to the chequered flag, so close to your first world title. You could hear Arabic commentary over the loud speakers of Abu Dhabi, you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, the adrenaline flowing in your veins and very blood. This would've been it. Your childhood dream. Your life goal.

Highlight the word: would've.

You somehow found yourself upside down on turn 16. Saved by the halo, you watched as your rivals passed you. Your vision was doubled and your body was numb, you didn't even realise that the marshals had already taken you out.

you couldn't feel anymore, you couldn't hear anything, people were moving you around and you could barely stand on your feet, knees buckling several times. Your vision was blurry and disoriented. Your throat hurts.

And of course, everyone's favourite part, you were forgotten. Sitting on the floor of the Porsche garage, alone. You could see the colours and blurbs of people celebrating and hugging, you could hear the muffled and distant noise and music, the cheer and laughter.

From leading every lap to a DNF in less than 30 seconds, you watched Max hug his team and shake hands with other drivers. Even your parents congratulated him, shaking his hands with your father and sharing a quick hug from your mother.

You continued to sit, while everyone left the garage to watch the podium celebration. Wasn't this exactly why you were in this sport in the first place? To be on that very podium, on the highest pedestal, singing your country's anthem as you draped the flag on your shoulders, to hold the trophy up high.

Time passed as you held your head between your knees, sitting in the same spot. You only moved when someone gently took off your helmet gently, pulling off your balaclava.

Was he talking? His voice was muffled and you couldn't see well enough to read his lips. The man gently used his sleeve to wipe your eyes. Free of tears and no longer blurry, you looked at Max.

His lips were pursed as he looked into your eyes. Your hearing slowly came back as he cupped your cheek, pulling you in a hug. You were hesitant to hug back, but you did, finding yourself hugging him tight as sobs started escaping your lips.

Realisation hits you like a truck.

It was over . . .

You lost.

Max stood up, pulling you to your feet with him while he rocked you gently. He pressed your head into his shoulder, turning around so your back would be facing towards any cameras who would try to capture you in your weak moments.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You repeated over and over. He didn't know why you were apologising but Max let you vent out your feelings. You have been wearing a cool face all weekend despite how nervous and frustrated he could tell you were, you deserved to be let free.

Two days passed and the FiA publicly apologised to you and your team. Marshals had failed to clear all derbies off the track which caused your crash. Although some people were mad about it ( your brand, team and fans definitely were ), and filed complaints, even going to the extent of suing the FiA; you did not care.

You take a plane back to Monaco after receiving a lecture from your father and mother. And you've been laying in your bed with the blinds closed ever since.

The only time you got out of your bed was when there was a ring at your door. You ignored it at first, but it rang two more times ( building up frustration because you were busy not watching your parents' disappointment on tv on loop ).

You slammed the door open, a dark glare being sent to the person who was about to ring the doorbell one more time. Max looked at you from the corner of his eye before lowering his hand away from the bell, looking at you sheepish smile on his face. "You're not wearing pants." He pointed out as he invited himself into your apartment. "I can tell, Max." You chuckled closing the door after him

[gogogodzilla]

day 30, corruption

shane (stardew valley) x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, possessive!shane, no aftercare, no preparation, public sex, one instance of dirty talk, dubcon kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

The first time he saw you was when you entered the Stardrop Saloon. You were prettier than anything he’d ever seen before and so full of life. He watched as you bounced between the tables, greeting the various patrons as you made your way to the bar. 

Shane huddled over his beer, watching you out of the corner of his eye. You interacted with everyone like you’d lived here for years. It wasn’t fair. 

You sidled up next to him as you waited for your drink. You introduced yourself and began chattering away. You leaned on the bar, putting your chest on display for the entirety of Pelican Town.

“I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?” 

The words slipped out of his lips before he could catch them. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but a small part of him enjoyed seeing the way you tucked your bottom lip in between your teeth, and you straightened at his comment. 

As the days passed, he began to feel a deep desire to be closer to you. You were good and you were pure. Everything he wasn’t. A sick part of him wanted to ruin you, to see you come apart at his hands. 

You always made an effort to stop and chat with him while he walked to the Joja Mart in the morning. You were always there, waiting for him as he exited Marnie’s house. He wondered if you had memorized his routine or if it was a coincidence every time. 

Slowly, he acted less like an asshole and you warmed up to him. His head began to perk up at the sound of the doors to Joja Mart opening, just hoping to catch sight of you. This increased as spring turned into summer and you’d show up in clothes that left little to the imagination. He dreamt of you every night, skimpy clothes discarded as you fell apart on his cock. Infatuation quickly turned into an obsession. 

It was Friday night at the saloon, which meant everyone in the valley was there. Shane kept to his corner, awaiting your arrival. He watched the clock as the seconds ticked by and you failed to make an appearance. 

Eventually, you arrived with Sebastian at your side, a laugh gracing your lips. Shane felt the burn of jealousy consume him, and he scowled into his drink. He was patient enough to wait until you made your way over to him, swaying a little from the drinks you’d downed earlier. He grabbed your hand and practically dragged you out of the saloon. He was going to make sure he was the only thing you needed. Not Sebastian, not Sam, just him. 

He shoved you against the wall of the saloon, too desperate to take you home and fuck you properly. His lips crashed against yours, and he held you with a rough grip on your jaw. You moaned against his lips as you pawed at his shoulders. He reached a hand down to slide under that pretty little dress of yours that drove him crazy. His dreams didn’t do the feeling of your skin under his fingertips any justice. 

He slid a finger over your clothed core, eliciting a small whine from you. He wondered if you’d ever been touched like this; his cock twitched at the thought of being your first. A pretty thing like you must’ve had all sorts of people fawning over you. 

He pulled away to catch his breath, shoved his face in the crook of your neck, and pressed open-mouthed kisses there. Your skin tasted almost as heavenly as it felt, and he groaned. He pushed your panties to the side and drug a finger through your folds, relishing how wet you already were. 

His movements were hurried as he removed his hand from your jaw to reach down and free his cock from his jeans. He was already painfully hard, desperate to see you absolutely ruined as you came around his cock. He slid his cock through your folds, gathering your slick. 

He lifted your thigh, giving him more access to that pretty pussy of yours. Slowly, he inched his way inside of you, and you clawed at his back as he did. You hissed at the intrusion, and he wished he would’ve had more time to prep you properly. He pressed a soothing kiss against your temple as he bottomed out. Your walls fluttered around him as you adjusted to him, and he almost came there and then. 

He pulled out of you before ramming himself back in, earning a high-pitched mewl from you. He clamped a hand over your mouth as he rutted into you. His free hand drifted up to knead your breasts, your nipples hardening under his touch and showing through the thin fabric of your dress. 

He reached a hand down to draw quick circles around your clit as he felt the familiar heat building in his abdomen. He wasn’t going to last long with you squeezing him just right and making those desperate noises that had his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

He hoped Sebastian could hear them from inside the saloon. He wanted to make sure everyone in this goddamn town knew you were his. The thought had him thrusting harder into you, each drag of his cock releasing a breathy moan against his hand. 

You gripped his bicep as you clenched around him, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

“C’mon, baby. Make a mess around my cock,” he begged, words slurring together as he neared his climax. 

You rutted against him and clenched his cock as you came. You whined against his hand and he loved the way your face scrunched up as he jutted into you, riding out your high. 

With one final drag of his hips, he was coming in you, marking you as his own. He relished the way his seed painted your walls. Slowly, the twitching of his cock stilled and he pulled out of you. He groaned as he watched his cum drip out of you and down your thighs. 

His movements were hurried as he tucked himself back into his shorts, and made his way back into the saloon. He hoped you’d come crawling back to him. He hoped you’d stay. You had to.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Late Bloomer 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

Your confidence starts to recover as you show up to your Art Studio class. It’s in the same room as last year and the familiarity makes you feel a little less lost. As it so happens, the professor is also the same as your first. 

Professor Rogers welcomes his class in as he did the year before. He explains that the brushes, paints, and materials in the ‘community garden’. The collection if for those in need and the need is never questioned. Students are encouraged to come take what they need and leave what they don’t. With the cost of materials, it’s a kind concept. You took advantage of it more often than you liked. 

You gently unzip your leather artist’s bag while he begins the lesson. As he reads over the expectations in the syllabus, your eyes meet. He smiles and continues. You still, reluctant to distract him. 

“Last year, you would have gone over 2D concepts and techniques. This year, we will delve into 3D. Every two weeks, you will submit a project. Lessons are Tuesdays in the current slot, but the studio will be open daily for three hours after seven. Whether you work here or in your own space, I expect all work to be on time. Extensions will not be given outside extenuating circumstance.” 

His voice is rigid but you know well he isn’t as strict as he pretends to be. It’s the first day, he has to make a show. Still, you never submitted anything past the due date. Not in this class. 

“I am aware of your other classes and I have not set unrealistic goals alongside those. However, for those who have joined as elective students, you might want to make note of the withdrawal deadline,” he girds. “Now that we’re past the fear mongering, we will start the session. We’re starting standard. Clay. First assignment, molding and shaping, then we will delve into pottery. Basic, you’ll get deeper into techniques if you are enrolled in the subject course itself.” 

His tendency to overexplain can overwhelm but you are reassured by your first year. Rogers wasn’t the worst but he had standards. Besides, this is what you’re here for. This isn’t an elective, this is your major. You like this stuff and that makes it a little easier. 

You delve into the first week. After going through some foundational work, Rogers lets the room fall silent. Most students will have a degree of experience from high school or freshman classes. You aren’t entirely lost yourself. 

Professor Rogers makes a round of the room, stopping to chat with each student. You sense him coming close and knead your clay without much purpose. He stops across from you, just on the other side of the table. 

“You’re back?” He says. 

“Wouldn’t you know, I need more than one course for this dang degree,” you kid. 

“Really? Jeez.” He scoffs as he presses his fingertips to the table, “so, how was your summer? Did you go to the beach?” 

Your eyes flick up to his. You remember last year he wasn’t so... casual? You don’t know how to explain it. His hair is a little less neat and he doesn’t sport his usual button-up. You always made note of his expensive shirts and that he didn’t seem to care about the paint stains. This year, he’s in an open canvas jacket and a plain tee. 

“Yeah, but it was overcast. Didn’t feel like mixing that much grey,” you answer. “What about you? Good summer?” 

He shrugs and smiles. Something about it is stiff, “it was a summer. Taught a few interim classes. Nothing special.” 

“Oh, well, summer is overrated.” 

“Is it? Don’t tell me you’re into all that pumpkin spice?” He sniffs. 

“I’m more into winter. I love snow and hot chocolate. Simple tastes.” 

“Very minimalistic,” he praises. “Well,” he taps the table and drags his hands off, “welcome back.” 

“Thank you, Professor.” 

You refocus on the clay as you consider the various objects up for grabs. You could recreate the broken porcelain figure. It reminds you of ancient Greek ruins. Or you could go simple and claim that large silver spoon. Your indecision has always been your greatest obstacle. 

“Alright, so, from here on, you have the rest of the time to work. You’re welcome to pack up and do it in your own time but I highly recommend staying,” Rogers announces to the room. “I am here for your benefit.” 

The class murmurs back at him. Most keep on what they’re doing while a few fidget and wait only ten minutes before they leave. You would have done the same ten years ago but this isn’t just a checkbox on a list. This is you trying to reshape your whole life. You’re done with waitressing. You’re here to learn, to make this into something real. 

Besides, your roommate is a fan of metal music and it doesn’t do well for your creativity. You don’t hate the music but it’s just not the vibe. You press your fingers into the clay and stare off across the room. Your eyes haze as you fall into thought. 

Cerise texted before you got there that she wanted to meet up after and Primrose gave a staunch thumbs up. You missed them too. You can’t wait to catch up. You can only say so much over texts. 

You smile as you think of them. Your little ragtag trio. Cerise, the youngest, who always manages to get lost wherever she goes and Primrose who only ever knows exactly where she needs to be and what needs to be done. You’re the oldest, the maternal light that keeps the younger from wandering too far and the other from overthinking her coffee order. 

Your vision clears as you sense movement. You blink as you find yourself staring at Professor Rogers. Oops. You give a sheepish smile and put your head down. As much care as you put into others, you often forget yourself. While everyone assumes you have it all figured out, and you would think that you would at your age, you are just another student muddling through to graduation day. 

[faulknxr]

Faulkner presses the tips of his fingers together in a succession of small bounces while considering Agent Hemingway’s prediction. “You are apt with your observation, Agent,” Faulkner recognizes and drops his hands to his sides, ever the fitting sentinel, continuing in his mellowed cadence, “Your suggestion would be the best method of sensible action.”

This Agent will excuse himself and pick up a box of bottled water in the building’s communal kitchen storage after this conversation. Nodding along to Hemingway as his plan unfolds, Faulkner adds, “For the record, I do not expect obeisance from my reminder. After all, our nation did not do so well with Temperance, did it?” He lowly chuckles a rumbly three beats, which fade in and fade out. One could mistake it for a bass drop from the song playing in the background.

Standing to attention, hands behind his back, Faulkner’s fingers gently knead the back of his blazer while Hemingway looks into the gift bag. Fine wrinkles imprint onto the polyester-blend fabric. Faulkner answers quickly, “Yes, I’m aware, Agent. I chose to. Your date of birth is worth celebration, and I noticed the last time I had visited that your cupboard was sparse of this type of glassware…”

Faulkner’s explanation trails when he catches Agent Hemingway’s eyes watering. Had Faulkner misspoke and offended Hemingway by pointing out the lack of stout glasses? He hadn’t criticized too harshly, did he? Should he reach for his handkerchief? A hand hovers up and slinks into the inner pocket of his jacket and pauses —

Agent Hemingway is smiling. Faulkner’s chest warms up. His hand drops down and burrows into his pants pocket.

Usually, water would be Faulkner’s go-to, or seltzer with a slice of citrus in a simulated attempt of letting one’s hair down — figuratively, as Faulkner would never be without orderly style in the workplace — but as Hemingway rinses the glasses, Faulkner decides to take a chance. “Sī fuerīs Rōmae, Rōmānō vīvitō mōre; sī fuerīs alibī, vīvitō sīcut ibī.”

Agent Hemingway knows his Latin, and Faulkner smiles, hoping the agent will approve his response. When in Rome. “I wouldn’t mind what you were making, Agent Hemingway.” He leans slightly, almost on the side of a counter, but doesn’t commit. An inch of air separates his hip from what appears to be a granite-like stone cut. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and so, too, are Agent Faulkner’s casual informalities.

“Your hypothesis is humorous, Agent. The price of fame would be quite a toll, though, wouldn’t you say,” Faulkner inquires, already picturing Hemingway and Fitzgerald as a two-man jazz band reminiscent of the Bebop 40s. “Yes, I can see that you two would be some hepcats… Heh, then we, speaking unofficially for the group, will take you up on your offer. The stage is yours, Agent.”

Faulkner spreads his arm and gestures to a small set-up with a TV and a plugged-in karaoke machine. This Agent is sure that Agent Hemingway has gone through the correct channels and alerted his neighbors of noise before the commencement of this event. Stepping forward and waiting for his drink, Faulkner adds, “Then we can coordinate who goes next and corral the group for the True Colors ensemble piece later. I shall organize it for you, so please enjoy yourself… Birthday Man.”

this is exactly the kind of answer he was expecting to hear and, to be fair, this is the energy hemingway probably should be sharing. supposedly, he's one of the responsible ones so instead of playing bartender, he should be telling everyone to watch it, maybe keep tabs on who's just got their first drink down and who's about to get cut off. and any other day, he probably would but it's his birthday and so hemingway's allowed a little leeway. a night off from all the babysitting that nobody even asked for.

"you could try but i'm not sure how enthusiastic everyone's gonna be about the reminders. maybe we're better off being sneaky about it. just put water bottles everywhere," he says, only half-joking. "or we can just leave them to their own devices. it's a party after all."

when faulkner acknowledges the elephant in the room, namely the giftbag hemingway noticed the second the other agent walked into the kitchen, his smile grows even brighter. he did say that gifts aren't necessary when he invited everyone but who doesn't love a birthday present, come on. "ah, shit, you really didn't have to," he still says as he takes the glasses out of the bag. "these are beautiful, thank you." and just like that, he's starting to feel like he might shed a tear or two—they'd be happy tears, obviously, but he feels like any sort of crying would ruin the whole thing. so he looks up, blinks the tears away. works well enough.

hemingway gives faulkner another smile, just one more way of saying thank you and then clears his throat. "what are you drinking, though?" he asks as he sets the glasses down in the sink so he can rinse them. "i can make you a non-alcoholic something or just ... well, water."

"why, thank you. in another life, i'm a world famous performer. sold-out shows, all the time," he jokes as he dries the gifted glasses. "or me and fitz start that jazz band he's always talking about." hemingway looks over faulkner's shoulder, his eyes scanning the room until they land on fitzgerald, deep in conversation with another one of their teammates; hemingway smiles and then turns his attention back to faulkner. "but either way, the audience here is worth more than any music career could get me. i'll give you guys the opening act."

"oh, you're onto something here," he laughs. hemingway's still talking to faulkner and tending to his gift at the same time—he's finally arrived at the last step, which is pouring his drink into the crystal glass in one, swift motion. there. he gives faulkner a self-satisfied smile. "glad that you didn't suggest girls just wanna have fun, that's my song. and for true colors we should do an ensemble. and i will cry."

[pupkashi]

satoru is SHIT at flirting and i know it

like he could easily make people swoon when he doesn’t try but the second he decides ‘yeah i have feeling for u’ all his game goes down the drain

he uses stupid pick up lines and stuff on u but always manages to mess them up so they never actually work

“satoru where are you? shoko said the meeting was at 5:30” you asked, phone pressed to you cheek as you continued to look for the sorcerer.

“sorry I’m just lost” he pauses, a smile on his face, his confidence through the roof as he open his mouth again, “lost in those eyes of yours.”

silence.

“satoru we are on the phone”

he is absolutely mortified and debates on just completely giving up, but it’s when he’s unaware of his actions and just being himself that he finds you staring at him a bit longer, giggling at his words and blushing.

satoru is shit at flirting, but god is he a natural fucking charmer

he’s holding the door open for you, offering to walk you home, listening to you talk, watching your favorite shows with you and remembering your favorite things. he picks flowers for you and gives them to you, pays for your lunch anytime you guys are together, he’s always making you laugh and giggle even when he’s feeling like shit.

he’s the kind of guy to always brush hands with you when you’re walking next to each other, he’s holding your things for you, texting you and sending you things you’d find funny or that remind him of you, complimenting you constantly but not in a weird way

he’s the kind of bad flirting that hears you mention you like something and then he’s like “oh me too!” without missing a beat but he’s actually never consumed a single piece of media of the thing ur talking about and spends all night learning abt it in case you ever bring it up again

he once asked you if you could help him study before an exam and when he realized that you knew much less than him he ended up teaching you. he was sure his luck had ran out and he had fumbled extremely hard.

“toru! i passed!” you grinned, holding the paper in front of his face. the 90 written in red ink in the top right corner made his lips curl into a smile, grinning right back at you.

“i told you that you’d do great! I’m proud of you” he smiles, not expecting your arms to be thrown around his neck, squealing softly as you pull him into a hug.

you’re only giving him half a second to process what’s happening when your lips find his cheek, your heart racing and you’re hoping that shoko really did know gojo as much as she claimed to.

satoru is stunned, his face is red and his ears are burning and he should probably close his mouth or actually say something before all his efforts are washed away.

“haha cool” is all he stutters out, he’s cringing insanely hard and subtly pinching himself when you’re staring up at him with nervous eyes.

“yeah cool,” you mumble, already turning on your heel read to lock yourself in your room when he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his chest.

“can i kiss you?” he whispers, your faces mere inches apart, your small nod is all he needs before he’s crashing his lips onto yours, smiling into the kiss because holy shit i fucking made it.

when he’s pulling away from you he has this silly little grin on his face, clearing his throat before finally speaking up.

“I’m really glad you passed” he says, you can’t help but want to tear your hair out, what happened to the satoru that could make any girl swoon?

it’s not until after the two of you start dating that he’s back to normal, using every pick up line in the book (correctly this time) and making your blush like it was his job. he’d make you stutter and roll your eyes, so naturally flirting with you.

you would always make fun of him and ask where this was when he was crushing on you, he’d only get extremely red and start pouting, saying he was just too embarrassed because he thought you’d reject him.

a/n: hi hi back w a silly little drabble :P i don’t really like this much but i really wanted to post something so i hope it’s okay !! i think it’s sweet and silly hehe,, requests are open so feel free to drop something :3

taglist (send an ask to be added!) : @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

masterlist

[mineralsrocksandfossiltalks]

Fossil Friday: Marella splendens

This weird looking animal is called Marella splendens. It comes from the middle Cambrian Burgess Shale of British Columbia (and to much, much lesser extent, the Chengjiang Biota of China). Discovered by Charles Walcott, he informally called it a lace crab. In fact, this was the very first fossil he collected in 1909 when he found the Burgess Shale deposits. Walcott thought it was some sort of very odd looking trilobite.

In 1971, Harry Whittington decided to thoroughly redescribe it and came to the conclusion it was not a trilobite not a chelicerate (group that includes arachnids and horseshoe crabs) nor a crustacean. He did this on the basis of its legs, gills, and head appendages. While it may not be in any of those groups, it is an arthropod.

Marella is a very small animal ranging from a little over 2mm to nearly 25 mm (less than an inch in length). The four projections on its head make it look a bit like the top of a pitchfork which I imagine made it very hard to predate on.

There were many other interesting features of the head besides the crazy headgear. This animal apparently had no eyes which would explain the need for long antennae broken into as much as 30 segments. That's not even the weirdest part! Marella's stomach was located in the head right behind the mouth! Talk about using your stomach to think.

Marella was an active, nektobenthic swimmer that moved around just above the sea floor. It could rest on the sea floor by standing on its body appendages. It was a deposit feeder, meaning it ingested sediment to consume organic matter. The net of internal projections on the last twelve body segments would have been used to trap food particles located in water currents and to pass them along the underside of the animal. Food particles trapped in the net would be moved towards the mouth using the tips of the anterior legs.

Marella is one of the most common fossils found in the Burgess Shale. Over 25,000 specimens have been recovered and it is the second most common arthropod after trilobites. That's a lot of sea bugs.

[kathuku]

HOW TO BE CAREFREE.

1.Observe.Sit quietly one day and look at people just being in their element.Everyone is going through stuff, everyone thinks they are the stars!So don't even think for a second they remember your outfit or even care about what you do,say or think.(unless it affects them directly)

2.Live your life. We have Thirty smths who still don't know how to love their lives or what "their lives" look like.Thats okay, you're not alone.But you better get out of your head.And be where your feet are! EXPERIENCE, EXPLORE,ENJOY.

3.Consume less. Consume less content about other peoples lives unless you are actually seeking inspiration.For something you are doing in the next 30 minutes tops.Avoid being a mirror or copycat or societies expectations.Live life,be you,be true!! Authentic!!So consume less than you produce and creative.We feel much better as we serve!!With who we are!Not caring what people think.

4.NO ONE CARES.

5.NO ONE EVER KNOWS THE CURRENT YOU, UNTIL YOU LET THEM IN ON IT. You can show up as a different person everyday.Only you control it.

~k~

[mayblossomss]

Whumptober Day 30: Recovery / Hospital Bed

The rumble was a bloody blur. Boys fought viciously, red liquid seeping from their mouths and their knuckles bruised a dark purple. It was near impossible to distinguish Soc from greaser, as both sides were covered head to toe in mud, sweat, and blood.

Ponyboy rushed through the crowd of flying fists, desperate to reach Darry. Behind him, an enraged Soc gave chase. In the large fighting group, neither of them looked out of place, but they may as well have been a lynx and a hare: predator and prey.

Forcing himself to run faster, Ponyboy pushed both Socs and greasers out of his way to reach his older brother, who he could see swatting at a blond Soc.

"Darry!" he cried, but before he could see Darry's reaction, the Soc caught him and tugged him backward. It didn't take more than a second for the blade to pierce his stomach, and it took even less time for Ponyboy to crumple to the ground.

The Soc who stabbed him vanished into the crowd, too cowardly to stick around long enough to even grab his knife from Ponyboy's stomach. Everything sounded as though Pony was submerged beneath water, but he could faintly hear someone cry out his name.

Darry, who had been about to punch Paul square in the nose, holding him tightly by the collar, heard his little brother scream for him from a few feet away. He looked over just in time to watch as a Soc thrust a blade into Ponyboy's abdomen.

"Ponyboy!" he screamed, but his brother had already fallen to the ground, sinking the knife further into his body.

---

Opening his eyes, Ponyboy was consumed by a fog of confusion, unable to understand where he was and why. It certainly wasn't his shared bedroom with Sodapop, as his room wasn't white and filled with medical equipment. What happened? And what the hell was that beeping sound?

Attempting to sit up, he immediately decided that that wasn't a good idea as pain soared through his body, the main throbbing being located in his stomach. He winced, pain flashing through his eyes, before lying back down against his pillow.

"Hey, little buddy," A familiar voice spoke from beside him. Surprised, and a bit flustered that he hadn't noticed them, Pony glanced over and saw Darry. His lip was split, he was sporting a few new bruises, and was an odd pale colour in contrast to his typical tanned skin.

"Darry?" Ponyboy's voice was rough as he spoke. "Darry, what's going on?"

"What do you remember?" Darry replied instead, avoiding his question.

Ponyboy racked his brain, but between the fog in his mind, and the throbbing pain in his stomach, he couldn't recall anything past eating cereal that morning. "Nothing."

Darry frowned, running a hand through his hair before sighing. "There was a rumble. You got stabbed."

The rumble bit was familiar, and now that it was mentioned, Pony could remember how he and Soda were throwing punches to practice for it earlier. The stabbing part, however, was a shock. He glanced down at his stomach, but it was covered by a blanket. "Am I okay?"

"The doc seems to think so, yes," Darry nodded, a tense note in his voice. "But apparently it wasn't easy... saving you, I mean."

"Saving me?" Ponyboy repeated, eyebrows knitting together.

"You almost didn't make it through the surgery to repair your spleen," Darry explained, cold eyes darken with emotion. "You flatlined on the table at one point."

Pony, already struggling to wrap his head around everything, stared at him in shock. "What? I... died?" When Darry nodded, he felt his throat dry. "Oh."

"But good news, the doc says you're gonna be okay now," Darry said, trying to smile. "I bet Soda's gonna be pissed he wasn't here to see you wake up."

Ponyboy grinned, adjusting to a position where there wasn't any pressure on his stomach. "Where is he?"

"Cafeteria with Two-Bit and Steve," Darry answered. "He hasn't eaten since before the rumble."

"How long ago was that?"

"About five or six hours ago,"

"Shoot," Ponyboy murmured, eyeing Darry. "You look like you ain't slept in five or six days."

Darry laughed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Speaking of sleep, you get back to it."

"I just woke up," Pony argued, despite the tiredness that his body felt. "What about Soda?"

"He'll just have to see you next time."

"But I'm not tired--" he cut himself off with a yawn, to which his ears went red with embarrassment at having been caught. "Not tired."

Darry only smirked and ruffled his hair both affectionately and gently. "Sure, now close your eyes."

Ponyboy complied, sinking back into his pillow and closing his eyes. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, and as Darry looked down at him, he couldn't help but sigh. It was always something with Pony, wasn't it? The kid just couldn't stay out of trouble.

At least for the time being, he'll be okay. Even if it took a few hurdles to get to, Ponyboy would recover in no time.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Part 1: Loss

listen. i know it's been two months since i've gotten this request. but i liked it so much that i'm splitting it into 3 parts 2 parts so i hope it's worth it. i crossed out the last part because spoilers :3

word count: 1.6k notes/warnings: angst, canon!verse, s4 spoilers, alcohol, levi lamenting his life, i need emotional support, jakdfjk

Wine? Why would we need to bring wine on a mission?

That thought continuously ran through Levi's mind as he stared at the now empty wine crate with a frown. He thought it was silly and even harmful. It'd make their mission less effective if his soldiers' movements and judgements were slow from the alcohol—but they had a point. They were going to be camping in the Forest of Giant Trees, watching over Zeke for who knows how long.

"Levi?"

He vaguely heard someone call out as he continued to glare at the wine crate.

"Levi!"

Levi was finally ripped out of his stupor as he blinked a few times before looking up at you, frowning at the sight in front of him.

You were sitting across the campfire from him with a wine bottle in your head. He raised his eyebrow at you.

"I snagged it from some of the underlings since they were getting a bit too rowdy," you said with a shrug, motioning towards a group of your subordinates that were chatting loudly enough for the entire forest to hear. Some of them were even passed out on the ground.

You raised the wine bottle towards Levi.

"Want some?"

He blinked at you again with a deadpan expression that was oddly judgmental at the same time.

"...Knock yourself out," he grumbled before sipping on his cup of tea. "I'm not touching that shit."

You scoffed at him.

"Whatever you say, grumpy," you muttered in an annoyed tone as you brought the wine bottle up to your lips.

~~~~~

Everything froze once Zeke started screaming. Zeke beginning to run off on his own without any backup was already suspicious enough. He might have been shady, but he wasn't dumb. He wouldn't dare run off from 30-something soldiers that were stationed specifically to guard him.

"What?" Levi muttered to himself.

His eyes slowly widened as he began to put the pieces together.

Immediately after, the forest around him lit up as his subordinates began to turn into Titans one by one.

That itself was already devastating enough, but there was one other factor that made his heart drop down into his stomach and filled him with nausea and panic.

He felt like he was perceiving the world around him in slow motion as he turned his gaze to the side.

You had gone to gather some of the Thunder Spears to chase after Zeke.

You had also consumed the wine.

He saw that you had dropped to your knees and that you were shaking. 

No...

Before he could run to you, just to reassure himself that the wine would have not affected you for some wild, magical reason, the forest lit up again and you had reappeared as one of those disturbing, deformed Pure Titans.

He froze as the scene unfolded before him. It was as if his brain wasn't allowing him to process what was happening. It was like the world was falling apart around him. His senses seemed muffled and his thoughts were frozen. His blood ran cold and he forgot how to breathe.

His instincts kicked in as soon as you rushed over to grab him. He reeled himself up into the trees, barely escaping your grasp. It took him a second to reorient back to reality, but by that point, he was already zipping through the trees at faster rates than the regular human eye would be able to comprehend.

Was Zeke's spinal fluid in the wine?!

Levi cursed to himself as he continued to use his mobility gear to fly through the trees as his entire team chased him throughout the forest. The 30-something Pure Titans that went after him were much faster than normal Titans. They were nearly all Aberrants and he knew that any normal Scout would have been long dead if they were in his situation.

Fuck!

He cursed at the world and especially at Zeke Jaeger. He had lost his entire team within the span of seconds. He had lost you in the blink of an eye.

He had been losing and losing and losing non-stop and there wasn't much left within him to be able to bear it. The thought of having to kill his subordinates as Titans made him want to collapse. The thought of having to kill you made him want to hurl, toss his blades onto the ground, and scream. 

Being stuck in his thoughts slowed his movements by just a second, and he saw the shadow of a Titan's hand behind him that was ready to grab him. 

Out of instinct, he pulled out his blades and spun to slice apart the hand that was approaching him. He felt his blood run cold for the millionth time once he saw who that Titan was.

It was you. 

His grip on his swords tightened and he was shaking. He couldn't tell if it was from rage, grief, or both. He shut his eyes as he forced himself to accept the reality in front of him. 

He had to cut everyone down. He didn't have a choice. It was either die or run, and leave his entire team, including you, to suffer for the rest of your lives wandering in the forest as mindless Titans.

An unreadable and dark expression appeared in his eyes as he began to systematically cut down all of the Titans around him. It didn't take him long, but he felt the darkness within him build with every single one that he was forced to kill.

He paused again as he saw that you were the final one standing. He flew towards you and prepared to slash the blades against your nape.

~~~~~

1 month earlier

"Do you think it'll be over once we defeat Marley?" you asked, leaning forward against the railing of the airship.

You had just defeated Marley at Liberio after the raid to rescue Eren and capture Zeke. Since there was still some time before arriving back at the island, both you and Levi found yourselves outside on the bridge to escape from the chaos inside the airship.

"...doubt it," Levi muttered.

You immediately lightly smacked his arm, scowling at him.

"What?" Levi asked as he returned your scowl.

You sighed at your boyfriend's persistent pessimism.

"We'll make it happen," you said stubbornly. "Even if war never ends, we'll make our dream of that little cottage in the middle of the forest next to a riverbank a reality."

You turned so that you were facing him and ran your fingers through his hair as you looked into his eyes. 

"Maybe it'll even have a field of flowers," you said quietly.

"I don't remember ever agreeing to this," Levi responded. His sentiment was cold, but he muttered it gently, as if some small part of him was considering the idea.

"You said you wanted a life away from everything."

He scoffed. "Never got that specific."

You tilted your head and smiled at him with a hint of amusement. "Got any better ideas, Ackerman?"

Levi continued to look into your eyes without responding.

"I didn't think so," you muttered and a smirk appeared on your face as you saw Levi roll his eyes.

Before you could continue to retort, Levi had wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you close, gently pressing his lips against yours. You leaned into him, feeling the gentle breeze blowing through your hair, with a combination of both him and the scent of the seawater below you permeating your nose. It was a moment you wanted to be imprinted into your mind forever.

"Fuck the cottage," he mumbled when he finally pulled away. "Having your annoying ass is enough already as it is."

You felt your face subtly heat up as he spoke.

"But the cottage would be a nice addition, right?" you teased, trying your best to maintain your composure around him.

Levi didn't respond, but pulled you into another soft kiss. 

Sure, the cottage would have been nice—but there was only one thing that Levi felt he needed, and it was right in front of him. He subtly smiled as he continued to press his lips against yours.

You were all he needed. As long as he had you, he could be content.

~~~~~

Levi had missed.

He couldn't get himself to slice his blades through the nape of your Titan's neck. He couldn't do it. No matter how many times he renewed his resolve, he couldn't get himself to kill you. His memory of your conversation on the airship played on repeat in his head. He couldn't throw all that away. 

Still, he didn't know what to do.

He couldn't bear to live in a world without you, especially since you would have died in such an unfair way. He couldn't imagine living a peaceful life without you. He didn't know if he could move on. 

He knew it was selfish. He shouldn't be prioritizing your life over anyone else's. It would compromise his duty as a soldier and Captain of the Scouts, but it was undeniably true. No matter what he did, no matter what he told himself, he could not kill you.

Levi felt absolutely defeated as he watched your Titan run at him.

He didn't know what to do—but he was desperate to do anything to save you, and to make it so that you could continue to live on.

#: @chaotic-on-main @romantichomicide95 @lovolee3 @svftackerman @levisbrat25 @leviismybby @idkks4m @moonmalice @elnyrae @sleepyfairyxo @averysmolbear @cathybarn @tclbts @levis-squishy-cheeks @roseofdarknessblog @aam1na @luvjiro @noctemys @sixpennydame

join my taglist!

[whencyclopedia]

Holidays in the Elizabethan Era

During the Elizabethan Era (1558-1603 CE), people of all classes greatly looked forward to the many holidays and festivals on offer throughout the year. The vast majority of public holidays were also religious commemorations, and attendance at service was required by law. Still, the feasts that accompanied many of these 'holy days' were anticipated with pleasure, and many secular traditions began to appear alongside them such as playing football on Shrove Tuesday and giving gifts to mothers on the third Sunday before Easter. Holidays were also an opportunity to visit towns for a local fair or even travel further afield. The Elizabethan period was the first time the idea of a Grand Tour of Europe caught on amongst the rich, seen as a way to broaden a young person's horizons and round off their general education.

Holy Days

The concept of an extended holiday as a period of rest from work is a relatively modern idea. Throughout the Middle Ages, the only time a worker had off work was Sundays and holy days, that is days established by the Church to celebrate a religious matter such as the life of a particular saint or such events as the birth of Jesus Christ at Christmas and his resurrection at Easter. In the 16th century CE, these holy days became known by the now more familiar and wholly secular term, 'holidays'. The Elizabethan period was also the first time that such religious holidays came to be associated less with Church services and more to do with taking a 24-hour break from everyday life and, if possible, enjoying a little better quality of food and drink than one usually consumed. However, it is to be remembered that attendance at church on the main holy days was still required of everyone by law.

In the second half of the 16th century CE, there were 17 principal holy days recognised by the Anglican Church, some of which, as today, moved particular dates depending on the lunar calendar. These holy days, and their celebratory or commemorative purposes, were:

New Year's Day (1 Jan) - the Circumcision of Jesus Christ.

Twelfth Day (6 Jan) - the Epiphany when the Magi visited Jesus.

Candlemas (2 Feb) - Feast of the Purification of Mary.

Shrovetide/Shrove Tuesday (between 3 Feb & 9 Mar) - the last day before the fasting of Lent.

Ash Wednesday (between 4 Feb & 10 Mar) - First day of Lent, the 40-day fast that leads up to Easter.

Lady Day (25 Mar) - Annunciation of Mary and considered the first day of the calendar year in England (when the year number changed).

Easter (between 22 Mar & 25 Apr) - the Resurrection of Christ and including nine days of celebration.

May Day (1 May) - commemorating St. Philip and Jacob but also considered the first day of summer.

Ascension Day (between 30 Apr & 3 Jun) - Ascension of Christ and a major summer festival.

Whitsunday (between 10 May & 13 Jun) - Pentecost when Christ visited the apostles.

Trinity Sunday (between 17 May & 20 Jun) - Feast day of the Trinity.

Midsummer Day (24 Jun) - also commemorates John the Baptist.

Michaelmas (29 Sep) - marks the end of the harvest season and commemorates the Archangel Michael.

All Hallows/Hallowtide (1 Nov) - the feast of All Saints (Hallows).

Accession Day (17 Nov) - commemorates Elizabeth I of England's accession.

Saint Andrew's Day (30 Nov) - commemorates St. Andrew.

Christmas (25 Dec) - the birth of Jesus Christ.

Continue reading...

[what-do-bunyips-look-like]

This crab day thing has gotten so frustrating so fast. The person who suggested it is an anti-abortion anti-feminist right wing christian transphobe. Many of the people spreading additional posts and info are ALSO anti-abortion right wing christian transphobes. Seriously. Start clicking their blogs when you see these posts. Search "abortion" and "feminism" and "trans" and "gender" and "groomer." This is really easy to confirm. But people don't give a shit because "crabs fun." okay.

And its not like people aren't aware of it at this point. Search "crab day" on tumblr and a good chunk of the results are asks saying "hey btw crab day was started by a transphobe/right wing christian." and most of those people have responded with something along the lines of "Um okay but like its a good idea though??? You guys can't even collaborate with conservatives for like a second to achieve a political goal? UGH this is why nothing ever gets done 🙄." or "Um okay but like that post had nothing to do with their political beliefs. so like its fine lol. Crab fun." Or "oh no omg im so sorry thats so gross i deleted the post but im still gonna keep reblogging all the other posts by the conservative transphobic anti abortion right wing christians whos blogs i wont check because we need to save tumblr!!!!"

Let me make this really fucking clear for those who don't get it: it doesn't matter if the post is not about their political beliefs. You and all your mutuals are reblogging them. You are making it easier for them to network and find each other. You are bringing them new followers, a bigger audience, a bigger platform and a bigger pool of people who will spread their oh so relatable non-political posts. Which will bring in more followers. And some of those new followers are going to be young dumbasses who are going to see all their posts about "groomers" and "mutilation" and the evils of porn and the horrors of abortion and how feminism actually harms women and do i need to tell you how that story ends?

You are showing that "crab fun" is way more important to you than the safety of trans tumblr users. You are giving them a bigger platform and a wider net with which to potentially harm trans people. By saying that you're not going to let their political beliefs ruin your fun, you're making it very clear that trans people are less important than your fun. And you're making it VERY fucking clear that you'd RATHER tumblr become a safe and welcoming place for anti-feminist anti-abortion right wing transphobes than give up fun crab.

You are showing that your need to throw money at a corporation is more important to you than trans tumblr users. I get where you are coming from. I do. You want tumblr to keep existing. I want tumblr to keep existing. I also want the other trans people who use this fucking platform to keep existing because frankly, they are the only reason i'm here. and if they aren't safe here and if you will throw us away just to keep tumblr shambling along a little longer then I have no fucking interest in tumblr.

"Okay but we need to save tumblr uwu!!!!" Look I'm just some dumbass and I don't know shit (and to be PERFECTLY honest, so are you), but I think this is a little more complicated than "if we raise enough money we can save the school/family farm/community centre/(insert cozy heartwarming thing that needs to be saved)!" As other smarter people have said, tumblr is operating at a yearly $30 million deficit. Thats $30 million just to break even. For one year. not become profitable. Its not a bail them out once and its all good forever situation. Tumblr is not a small message board run by volunteers who actually use donations to stay afloat. They are not a non-profit. They are not running a pledge drive. Throwing money at a corporation does not a nonprofit make. It makes you a consumer.

Your response to "tumblr making bad changes" is "give them money for making the bad changes to show that we don't like bad changes!! A reverse boycott'll show 'em!!" You sure about that??? (And some of you are calling this """""unionizing?"""" Put that word back on the shelf.) You don't know what you're doing and you're not listening to the smarter people who have tried to explain it to you. And once again, you're showing that this half baked scheme is more important to you than trans tumblr users. because crab fun.

And @everyone whos clambering over each other to "collaborate with conservatives for a good cause," we already fucking know that you love to do this shit. You are the same people who will say "yeah but theres bad people on both sides!!!" and who wont give up your Harry Potter or your Chick-Fil-A. You will throw us under the bus the SECOND it gets you something you want. Even something as stupid and small as pickle brine or a shitty videogame or fucking "crab day." And guess what. The second all your "shared goals" are accomplished and the conservatives get what they want FROM YOU??? You're going straight under that bus too.

And also, isn't it maybe a little hmmmm. SUSPICIOUS that CONSERVATIVE CHRISTIANS want to throw money at the site that we've been bitching and screaming at for how unfairly it censors any display of queer sexuality????? They don't have the same problems with tumblr that you do. You think that collaborating with THEM is gonna stop that? Gonna get the porn ban reversed? Gonna turn tumblr into a co-op? Gonna "unionize this bitch?" Hello????

If you must. MUST participate in this because crab oh so fun and tumblr is oh so in need of saving then for the LOVE of FUCK make your OWN POST and STOP PLATFORMING THESE PEOPLE. i don't want to hear "Oh but its a good idea it doesn't matter if a bad person came up with it separate art from the artist lol" if you're not MAKING AN ACTUAL EFFORT TO EXCLUDE THEM FROM THIS. BLOCK THEM. CHECK THEIR BLOGS. BLACKLIST THEIR URLS. ITS EASY.

and then maybe go give your $3 to an actual non-profit. or to an actual leftist independent organization. Or wikipedia. Or inaturalist. Or to one of the many hyperspecific message boards out there who are struggling along on donations from like 5 people. Or maybe, maybe, give your fucking $3 to an abortion fund or to a trans person's go fund me so they can buy food. Or to a womens shelter or a fucking homeless person or to any of the other people who anti-abotion anti-feminist right wing christian transphobes want to stop existing.

My partner is afraid to leave the house alone because people with these exact same political beliefs are in power. People are getting their HRT ripped away from them because people with these exact same political beliefs are in power. People are being forced to give birth because people with these exact same political beliefs are in power. Every day I'm ready to get the news that the state my partner is in is no longer safe and we have to figure out an escape plan. These people do REAL HARM in the REAL WORLD and their beliefs are, tbh, way more fucking insidious and mainstream and tolerated than those of TERFs.

But fun crabs are more important. okay.

[battleangel]

The End of Weird Anime

What happens to 80s & 90s anime that arent streaming right now when VHS & DVD completely go away?

The obsession with micro everything, everythings a sound bite, everything is 5 to 7 seconds, even songs, the chorus IS the song now, noone else ever hears anything else.

Only sports, reality TV and competition games can be watched week to week in real time.

All TV series now have to be immediately binged and consumed.

Its essentially bulimia.

Binge Loki in a weekend. Binge Ahsoka in a weekend. Its already done.

Whats next.

What else can I feed the machine with.

No waiting week to week. No such thing as a cliffhanger. No anticipation. No guessing whats next. No watching together as an audience.

Everything segmented, everything bifurcated, nothing in real time, nothing communal.

No season finale, no season premiere.

Same with anime.

Its not VHS or DVD anymore.

Youre not waiting for a release.

Its crunchyroll and Netflix and Funimation and Hulu and streaming.

Its the entire season of Psycho Pass all at once whenever I want to binge and gorge myself.

No asking to be taken to the mall.

No driving to Suncoast Video.

No deciding which $30 VHS or DVD to ask to be bought.

Martian Successor Nadesico or Ayashi no Ceres?

Everything is accessible.

Its less for 3 months of streaming anime than 1 anime used to cost on VHS or DVD.

No downside, if it sucks, move on.

Its not even the old school illegal Crunchyroll which was essentially Limewire for anime where you could illegally download different series.

I didnt waste time downloading for hours on my brothers computer for a shitty anime.

I didnt risk getting a virus on my brothers computer.

I dont have to clear up space.

I dont have to waste time.

I dont have to spend money.

I dont have to risk anything.

I dont have to exert any effort.

Its just, on to the next.

What does the algorithm say a Demon Slayer fan should watch next?

What should I watch now that Attack on Titan is over per the almighty algorithm?

No Viz anime catalogue to pore through.

No RightStuf catalog to highlight and fold the corners of the pages of.

No Animerica to read through every month once it arrives in the mail.

No going through AOL message boards and anime ezboards and geocities and angelfire websites to try to determine what to watch next.

No asking to be taken to your local Blockbuster to check the newest anime rentals in the "Independent/Foreign" section.

Just scroll, select, click and move on.

No need to even download and delete.

Its all streamable, instantly consumed, immediately binged then thats it.

On to the next algorithmic recommendation.

The algorithm never ends.

It always has another suggestion for you.

No meticulously going through myanimelist.com, putting up the hundreds of anime youve watched so far then scouring everyone elses lists to get ideas for new anime to watch.

Whats next after Vision of Escaflowne?

What should I watch after Yuu Yuu Hakusho?

If I can get a ride to the flea market on 18, I wonder what else they'll have similar to Dangaioh & Orguss 02?

To Macross Plus?

I wonder if Sci-Fi Channels Anime Week Festival will show something similr to Iria Zeiram or Armitage III this year.

Ninja Scroll was amazing, I wish I could see Wicked City since its by the same director, Yoshiaki Kawajiri. But I know I wont be allowed to. I had to sneak watch Ninja Scroll at my friends house and her older brother had bought it and thats the only way I even got to see Ninja Scroll at 13.

Everyone talks about Sailor Moon but noone talks about Bubblegum Crisis 2032.

Why not? The Knight Sabers are cooler than the Sailor Scouts and Ill take a cool motorcyle riding ass kicking punk rock singer like Priscilla Asagiri over a whiny, annoying, immature Serena any day. I dont care that shes 14 like me. Shes freaking annoying and a crybaby.

I wonder what other anime are like 8 Man After. It was so hard-boiled and dystopian and futuristic.

What happens to 80s & 90s anime that arent streaming right now when VHS & DVD completely go away?

When laptops and videogame systems are discless?

Then what?

What happens when Crunchyroll, Netflix and Hulu dont want to pay to license some amazing anime that are hidden gems?

In 25 years, when very few VCRS and DVD players and video game systems and laptops that can play VHS tapes and discs are still in circulation and functioning, then what happens?

What their plan has been this whole time: we will only have access to watch what the streaming companies CHOOSE to pay the license for to stream.

We will lose everything else.

We'll lose Cybernetics Guardian, Genocyber, Twilight of the Dark Master, Robot Carnival, Vision of Escaflowne, Iria Zeiram, Armitage III, Saber Marionette J, Martian Successor Nadesico, 8 Man After, Lensman, Demon City Shinjuku, Fancy Lala, Tekknoman, Full Metal Panic...

Only the biggest hits, the most iconic series, the most controversial OVAs and movies will survive in the brand new streaming world devoid of any physical VHSs and DVDs.

Only the Akiras, Neon Genesis Evangelions, Urotsuki Dojis, Berserks, Gantzs, Sailor Moons, Dragon Ball Zs, Pokemons, Gundams, Bleaches, Narutos and Spirited Aways will survive to be streamed.

What about the Serial Experiments Lain?

What about the Nausicaa of the Valley Winds?

What about the Angel Sanctuarys?

What about the Please Save My Earths?

What about the Here is Greenwoods?

Will they be lost forever?