Someone took Gabriel's favorite things from him; his clothes and himself

I've survived my first day on Tumblr

Achievements:

⭐️

This is so heart achingly cute.

The way he catches himself staring and looks away before Crowley sees.

One of the most life-changing things I ever learned came from Mythbusters, where they tested and proved (with cognitive testing puzzles and reaction time tests) that lying down and resting with the intention to sleep STILL provided significant mental benefits over just staying awake, even if a person couldn’t fall asleep in the amount of time they had. 

It helps me to actually sleep to know that just lying down with my eyes closed is still doing me some good, and helps me to not freak out/beat myself up when I stay up later than intended. Any amount of rest is better than no rest!

So if you didn’t know that…now you do

do you know that i think of this post every time i can’t sleep op. what mythbusters did for you, you have done for a great many others. 

Note that the context of this GIF is that Zelda suspects the frog in question is psychoactive and is attempting to convince Link to eat it so that she can observe his reaction and determine whether she’s right.

Whether that makes it less romantic or more is left as an exercise for the reader.

no it's romantic. doing experiments on you is one of the main ways that girls show romance

but angel...... I can't resist organizing things into alphabetical order

(gabriel with a duster was the last thing I expected to see asfjksjfkskk)

r u n

BE NOT AFRAID

Unmute !

The Aussies have a thing or two to learn it would seem.

I’ve never seen an Ostrich look SO offended in my life.

Let’s hear it for unorthodox animal handling skills! 

The ostrich is either so offended that it just can’t stand it, or it’s so confused that this other ostrich thing has gone and shapeshifted on it.

The email, hoping to find me well:

How it found me:

Also this is not true. You do in fact have the copyright to the specific writing you did in a fic, because that's not how copyright law works. Like this is not a grey area.

People who write IP content for corporations give up their copyright on a contractual basis--the company wants writing they can sell about characters/settings they own without getting entangled in royalty obligations etc, so they hire people. Who sign contracts saying they don't own what they write as part of that job.

That's why you don't own Star Wars stuff you wrote for Disney; you specifically agreed not to own it.

Writing for IP you don't own leaves you in a position where you can't legally monetize it (without taking out the Owned parts ad rebranding), but it absolutely does not automatically cede or void copyright. That is super not a thing.

SUPER not a thing, I cannot say this enough.

I can't sell my Batman fic, but neither can DC Comics without my duly authorized consent. Because they own Batman, but not the prose I composed about him.

Do not perform that kind of massive corporate overreach for them. Holy shit. Do they not own enough.

It’s fascinating that this misconception of copyright still exists. Haven’t we all seen the posts on here where authors beg fans to please not send them fanfic of their works? They’re not doing that because they feel like it, they do that because fans legally own their words and ideas, and an author who takes them even unintentionally can in fact end up in real legal trouble for taking something that’s not theirs. It doesn’t matter whether they own the canon.

I suppose I should have guessed that offhandedly mentioning my father was in several year feud with a parrot in the tags of that post would make my inbox go nova.

Anyway, my dad was involved in a feud with an African Grey parrot for several years. No one knows how said parrot came to be in our Scottish village, it simply showed up one day at the rescue and the local hairdresser, Sharron, adopted it. 

Now if you don’t know much about African Greys, they’re chatty buggers. They’re also wicked smart and incredible mimics. Which was how Marty the Parrot became an infamous feature of our wee town; frequently escaping his enclosure to perch above the barbershop door, hurling Scottish colloquialisms at unsuspecting tourists and whistling the ice cream truck song whenever kids walked past. One time, some construction workers drilled through the water pipe that ran through the village square, and above the roar of water spewing forth into the street and alarmed swearing, Marty could be heard cackling like a demon through the window. Right until the water reached the barbershop door and flooded the ground floor room he was sitting in, and then he started screaming, “help! help! murder murder polis*!”** until he was rescued and offered a plain digestive biscuit. 

After that and many, many more escape attempts and being asked politely by the local tourist board if Marty could stop telling hikers to “away and pish!” Sharron took him to see some sort of bird whisperer who told her Marty was lonely and needed company. So she moved his cage into the barbershop during the day so he could see and talk to her and the customers. 

Which is where my dad comes in.

You should know that my dad is the epitome of a wee auld Scottish granda. He’s had a full head of white hair since his early forties, and wouldn’t look out of place in a Norman Rockwell painting in Norman Rockwell ever took a wander doon the Barras and got swindled into buying a TV that quite-very-probably fell off the back of a truck. He’s got the gift for the gab, and everyone likes him. Sometimes against their better judgement. Everyone, that is, except Marty.

Marty hated my dad.

At some point, Marty picked up the habit of complimenting customers. He’d wait till Sharron was done with their hair, then wolf whistle and demand “who’s a pretty boy then?” in a broad Scots accent that ought to have defied avian vocalities. Sometimes he’d even do it before if he liked the customer. But regardless, he’d always chat with customers, even if it was just nonsense phrases like “Oh aye?” *whistles* “Iz at right?” *click click.* 

Now my dad knew this about Marty. He knew it from local chat and from watching the bird fawn over customers as he and my brother waited their turn. So it came as quite a surprise when my dad sat down in Sharron’s chair and was met with stony silence. The way he tells it, Marty stared at him dead on in silence, methodically cracking seeds between his talons. When my brother was done with his haircut in the neighboring chair, Marty turned and gave a shrill whistle, followed by his customary “who’s a pretty boy then?” before resuming his death glare at my dad, who by now was feeling a bit unnerved by the unwavering eye contact and the nut cracking. The uncharacteristic silence continued, even when my dad was getting ready to leave. There was no whistle, no “who’s a pretty boy then?” just silence and the sound of seeds being crushed. And then my dad tripped over the step on the way out of the shop, and Marty let out a demonic peal of parrot laughter*** like water circling an open drain. And that was the start of the feud.

After that, whenever my dad went to get a haircut, Marty would talk to him, but only ever in insults. The one time my dad tried asking “who’s a pretty boy?”, the bird replied “naw youse!” before cackling himself into a whistling fit. And every time my dad would come away, determined to get that bloody parrot to whistle at him and ask “who’s a pretty boy then?” 

Seeds were bought. Parrot appropriate biscuits were offered up as tribute. All to no avail. But eventually there became a sort of camaraderie in the insults. Like two enemies who know the steps to the dance they’re treading, and who welcome the familiarity of it. Sometimes my dad would just stick his head round the door on his way to work, just to hear the indignant squawk followed by a litany of insults that’d make a tea kettle whistle. And this went on for years, possibly close to a decade. 

Parrot and man locked in an ongoing battle of wills to see who would give up first.

Sadly, my dad never got his “who’s a pretty boy then?” whistle. Marty was already old when Sharron rescued him and is no longer with us. I’d like to say he’s looking down on my dad, hurling loving insults, but given that bird’s panache for stealing ice cream cones from unsuspecting children and general flare for terror, it’s probably more likely he’s looking up. Either way, he’s fondly remembered. Especially by my wee auld dad, who while never having got a “who’s a pretty boy then?” did get a “see youse later” one time, which probably counts for more.

*Scots for police. **A line from an old Glasgow Street song. ***Not Marty, but this is close to how I remember him sounding.

Happy 2-year-ish anniversary to this post. I need you all to know it’s been literal years, and during one of our recent phone conversations, I brought up Marty and what a terrible pun his name was, and my dad paused mid-sentence, asking what I meant and proclaimed, “Of course! It all makes sense! Marty McFly!”

If you’re trying to decide whether or not to write that self-indulgent fic that only you will like?

If you’re trying to decide whether you should read that favourite fic for the 17,000th time even though you have the whole thing memorized?

If you’ve never read/written fanfic before, but you think you want to try it?

each of the images above is the same gif from Parks and Recreation of Donna Meagle saying “Treat Yo Self”

we find our lovey dovey couple in the middle of a reconciliation 

Revenge - Aziraphale style :D (joking)

This thread omg

Family doesn’t have to be blood related.

Sometimes family is a righteously angry little girl, her supportive brother, a random stranger with a thirst for chaos and justice, two foreign grandmas, and The Rest Of The Plane.

yasss this makes me happy like nothing else lol

why write a story if no one's going to read it?

Sometimes you don't want to share a story with others. Sometimes you do want to share it, but no one clicks on the title. So why bother writing it down if the only person you can guarantee will read it is you?

This is probably the worst that anything has ever aged

the beginning and the breaking of the fellowship........ im reacting to this in a very ordinary way btw

Bee Planters // Coconut Studio Pottery