isn’t that the neck tattoo guy
This guy needs to slow down 😂😂😂
THAT’S WHERE I RECOGNIZED HIM FROM
But how could you leave out this masterpiece???
I love him
yall r missing the BEST one
I might have just found myself a new idol
Unsure if real or an elaborate character but in any case he’s fighting the good fight so 🤷🏻♀️💯
He shouts a lot. What a fun guy.
He has only one brain cell and he uses it to live life
my partner and I were watching TLOVM and also talking about campaign 3 - he suggested, if anyone other than Matt were to be cast as Pâté De Rolo, he should be voiced by Danny Devito
I snort laughed
do NOT be normal about aragorn around me ‘oh he’s such a badass he killed so many orcs’ yeah idc i’m here to talk about him all alone sewing up holes in his socks next to a campfire in his ranger days singing elven songs from his childhood and he sort of has a terrible singing voice but the ents love it and then later when he joins the fellowship and everyone’s up late singing goofy songs he’s so happy to have a chorus with him now and his voice keeps breaking and boromir is laughing so hard at him that he’s crying but not in a mean way and aragorn knows so he just sings louder and worse and he thinks he could get used to this
TIME TO EXPLAIN MY USERNAME
When they are being chased by nazgul, he is waffling over using the bridge openly, in cause it is a trap, and he decides they’re going to trust it because he finds a pretty rock. Which he calls an elf-stone, like the name he’ll eventually take, but obviously this is not THE elf-stone.
And Glorfindel had cleared that bridge earlier. And he was like “hmmm what symbol can I leave that Estel would definitely notice, and make known to him the way I’d safe? I know! A pretty rock! Estel loves cool rocks.”
And literally this was not an agreed upon symbol, Aragorn just goes “An Elf stone! These are good luck!”
And I am now convinced that little Estel growing up in Rivendell, would bring Elrond or his mom or any elf who he wanted to make friends with a rock he found that he thought was neat.
And of course, all of the elves are like “oh no, it’s cute!” Because here is this solemn little boy who wants to share the things he likes with them, and Elf children are rare at this point on middle earth, so all of these ancient elves are like. These garden stones. Are treasures.
And Elrond encourages his hobby, and helps teach him about types of rock and geology, because he is absolutely the Learning is Fun! Dad, but also he’s the heir to the Kings of the Noldor on middle earth, married to the niece of Felegund, who lived among the Gwaith i Mirdain for a while. Knowing about all types of rocks is probably, like, the Noldor equivalent of learning about all sorts of animals in kindergarten.
And because he absolutely unknowingly has the entire valley wrapped around his finger, elves start hiding interesting rocks around Rivendell. And uncut semi precious stones.
And Estel brings them to Elrond to help him look up in a book, and the Lord of Rivendell has to look at a young boy with a straight face and say, yes, it’s possible for raw emeralds to show up on the banks of the Bruinen, elves live here, lots of special things pop up around elves.
And so he calls them elf-stones, and is very happy with his little collection, and he shows all his friends who are all very impressed, some of them are rare and some are just odd shapes, or an interesting pattern, and not all of them got left around by elves in the longest Easter egg hunt of all time.
So Estel grows up, and becomes chieftain of the Dunedain, and has to leave his collection behind because he can hardly carry around a bunch of rocks as a Ranger, but sometimes he’ll bring one back when he visits, because collecting rocks and sharing them with his friends is a very happy memory for him, though what he finds is rarely as nice as the ones he’d find in Rivendell.
And all this to say, Glorfindel, who was absolutely one of the elves who hid rocks for Aragorn, is thinking of what to leave as a sign that won’t be too obvious, but he will definitely notice… and well, Glorfindel is also a Noldo, and he has a green stone in his pocket that DEFINITELY doesn’t belong among the stones on the bank here, but Aragorn will be sure to spot it and know a friend was near.
I have not decided if Aragorn legit still believes cool rocks pop up around elves, or is looking for any sign and it’s the only bright happy thing in a desperate world, but he totally got the message either way.
And that’s my Aragorn’s rock collection headcanon.
Arwen loves his rock collection btw. The first present he gives her when he has nothing and falls for her in Lothlorien is the small stone he’d carried in his pocket for miles.
He tells her how he started picking them up and giving them away as a child, and how now he only lets himself carry one he finds on his journeys. And so if he finds another he likes he has to choose between them. But because of that each stone is both a memory of his journey, and a reminder of his homecoming.
And she looks at this smooth white river stone- she is also a Noldo, this is a completely valueless piece of impure sedimentary quartz and calcium carbonate- in the palm of her hand. It came out of the pocket of this greasy man who called her her great-great grandmother’s name completely unironically, and looks into his hopeful grey eyes and just thinks “goddamnit I’m going to marry this poetic idiot and be so fucking happy.”
She gives him the most important stone of his collection, THE elf-stone, (at least she tells her grandmother she wants him to have it), and it’s slightly important to his fate or something, and he literally names himself after it so it’s kind of a big deal but he still insists completely straight faced that the one he gave her was better.
i think about this one so fucking often i had to clip it
that was like watching someone very skillfully assembling a stained-glass window just to watch someone else dropkick it
i saw this post earlier about therapists and it reminded me of my old therapist paul, who in my opinion is one of the greatest men alive and who did not put up with my bullshit for even one second
anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk
and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something
paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.
i say, paul.
is that a nerf gun.
yeah, says paul.
i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.
he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?
and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–
a foam dart hits me in the leg.
i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.
i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.
no dart this time. okay. sweet.
so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it
anyway i leave his office and the lady having the next appointment walks in and i hear what’s all over the floor? and paul very seriously says cognitive behavioral therapy tools.
legit my game plan if i was a vampire - i'd be my town's protective cryptid
You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.
They call you by many names, some more melodramatic than others. None accurate or kind.
Death. Endgame. Unmaker.
Every death is personal. Every end well-documented and attested to. Impeccable witnesses, unimpeachable evidence.
You’ve been tried in absentia so many times they carved your casefile number on the wooden seat back in the dock. It was impossible to catch you, impossible to stop you.
Granthar, mowed down while he accepted a medal for saving yet ANOTHER orphanage. No one asked him what nightmares he faced from all the kids he hadn’t been able to save. You hope he finds the peace he begged you for when you resettled him on that remote steppe after the furor died down.
Priat, killed along with her mortal enemy Donal while they were locked in another fight in their seemingly unending war. You went to their wedding two months later, pleasantly surprised to see them both enjoying retirement now that no one but themselves expected anything from them.
They said you had no morals. They said you would kill indiscriminately. In a way, perhaps, that was true. Heroes, villains, antiheroes, you would end them all. You had a few lines, though.
No collateral damage. No children left behind. Any family that relied on you taken care of. No one underage without a vetted guardian.
Venerable Mrs. Turner in Alliance, Nebraska had a Roth IRA with a guaranteed minimum lifetime withdrawal benefit that would keep her in style till the end of her days when you were done with her baby boy. And so The Machine exploded while picking up Starbucks for the League of Heroes, before he then retired to a monastery in Nepal.
Inevitable. Obituaris. Murderer.
One journalist had gotten to the truth, connected dots you didn’t think were visible. You’d had a choice; kill or risk the entire operation.
In the end, they asked you to help them as well. Once they saw the entire pattern, they couldn’t betray those who you’d helped before then. They’re raising sheep or something on a Shetland island now, writing books under their new name that sell mildly well. They’re happy, and that’s what mattered.
Their newspaper ran a black banner when you killed them, and has been dogging your trail ever since. One of their own, after all. You don’t grudge them their hate, someone has to stand guard at the door.
No powers, no abilities. Just money, a lot of it. Everyone you helped contributed to the cause, and some of them were very well-off indeed. Buying new lives took money, and good organizational skills. You’d already had the latter, and the former had come easily enough when Dr. Deathwish had been killed, leaving you alone, of all his minions and henchpersons, alive. Bad luck being stuck in traffic just then, you’d thought at the time, but maybe everything happens for a reason.
But people forget that heroes and villains are, underneath the spandex, masks, and makeup, just people. And people get tired.
The sort of tired a red bull and a day at the gym can’t fix. The sort even a month in bed can’t cure. A bone-deep weariness of the soul that no amount of public praise or civic medals can salve. Sometimes they just need to stop, and can’t or won’t explain themselves to the public or their employers.
You’ve always believed no one is owed your labor, so why should heroes and villains be any different? Not everyone will let them go, and that’s where you come in.
You’d started out Nameless Minion #467 in a generic evil lair, and now you were Death Incarnate for anyone who needed your specific brand of help. It was almost admirable, a self-made villain.
Really, you’re still a henchperson. Just helping everyone that needs it, not beholden to one villain or hero. Someone needs to be there for them to kill their pasts so their futures can live.
You stand at the doorway, evil murderer to those looking in, and kindly guardian to those passing through.
A guardian of change. Protector of new identities. That’s why your victims call you what they do, part humor based on the modern misunderstanding of the name, part description.
Janus.
This high school drumline’s incredible performance included only drumstick
Impressive
My thoughts as I watched:
“Heh, that’s cute.”
“Okay, that’s cool.”
“Dude.”
*reblogs*
Hilda by Duane Bryers
More Hilda!!
in this family we love and support Hilda.
Yes! Hilda!
What i love about this artist’s depictions of women is even the sexualized ones the woman is always genuinely happy and enjoying herself. Frolicking or making funny faces, she’s living her life and looking sexy while doing it, not sitting in a sexual pose for the audience’s view.
I always forget about Hilda and am so pleased when she randomly shows up on my dash. Always makes my day
I love Hilda so much and I want her to be happy
My favorite thing is how Hilda is always doing something and having a BLAST! She’s not posing coyly for anyone, she’s having her own adventures and it’s not about the viewer at all
You know that Ada Limón poem where she’s like “i can’t help it i love the way men love”? my dad recently confessed to me that he became a shoemaker because they buried my grandma shoeless
oh…………………………………
Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds - Ada Limón
me realizing my experiences with sewing have been a lie this whole goddamn time:
I don’t know about human surgeons, but that’s a suture pattern I use to close skin all the time and you can see why.
The slip stitch (or invisible stitch) was created to hide seams and later used by surgeons.
My cousin is a surgeon and was sewing something and used that stitch and then froze and said “Wait this isn’t a person.”
Grandma said “We used it first keep going.”
remember not to embroider the patient
Not me crying over the "Good Night Oppy" documentary on Prime.
I logged in to watch Good Omens and got completely sidetracked and now I'm having emotions over robots and Space. Again.
They engineers keep calling Opportunity "my child" and I'm 😭
Oh no. Well. I guess I'll be spending part of tomorrow crying as well, because there's no way I'm not watching that.
Listen. They played music to the rovers every "morning" to wake them up because it's a tradition to wake astronauts up with music.
And the way their voices all wobbled when they thought Spirit was dead and she came back to life listening to ABBA.
"So when you're near me, darling Can't you hear me, S.O.S.? The love you gave me Nothing else can save me, S.O.S."
I AM UNWELL.
The grief when Spirit died. Ugh. My heart.
They keep talking about Opportunity like she's human. Like her front arm had "arthritis" and her wobbly wheels and "losing her memory," and how she'd go to sleep and forget everything she'd achieved before, all of her science data and how she was still their perfect child and kept going, I'm--
"We hadn't seen her in 14 years and there she was."
The sandstorm just hit and I'm not okay.
The final song they played to her was "I'll be seeing you" sung by Billie Holiday which ends:
"I'll find you In the morning sun And when the night is new I'll be looking at the moon But I'll be seeing you"
"Good night, Opportunity. Well done" 😭😭😭😭
Oh man 100/10. Ripped my heart out my chest and put it back in with faith in humanity restored. Fuck I love space robots and the humans who build them.
This ABSOLUTELY works.
I have used this for many years. Definitely b do it.
This article was super long-winded so I screenshat the important part
the fact we’re responsible for getting doctors to “lower their defenses” in order to literally just do their jobs is ✨INFURIATING✨
This tweet has changed my life btw
Here’s a guide of what I’ve determined the meanings to be
walking around - self explanatory
fellowship - hanging out with friends
deliciousness - having something tasty
transcendence - feeling that you have reached a different level of some sort; alternatively, when you do one of the other delights to the extreme and feel really good about it. (you know transcendence when it happens)
goofing - having a good laugh at smth
amelioration - working towards the betterment of something, for example, working on a skill you hope to improve
coitus - fuckin’
enthralment - becoming incredibly engaged in something, hyper focusing on something
wildcard - anything that you feel was a delight in your day that does not fit one of the above delights
