i'm overwhelmed by feels

i’m really not good at doing the fandom thing

short & sweet ♡


“I will come as the rain.
I will come as the first snowfall.
I will beg the Heavens
to let me do just that.

A cruddy profile sketch commemorating the moment when I was just suddenly hit by the realization of how much this man matters to me, my brain, my heart, and my soul

He loves you

Even if u might not love him back

This man will never stop loving you




my angel, my sunshine, the light of my life, i can’t put into words how much you mean to me. every day you inspire me with your talent and passion and dedication. you make me smile and laugh on my darkest days. i’m so lucky to be alive at the same time as you.

They all wanted to be Garnet, Garnet is proud of them all anyway UwU







I am extremely proud of Loki Odinson, my very own child, for finally starting to make better life choices

(no but for real though, one thing that’s really struck me in thinking more about his actions in Ragnarok compared to the other movies is just how much of what he’s done previously has been purely reactive–he’s still making choices, but in many cases they’re significantly constrained by others or otherwise in response to others, whether that’s expressed by lashing out at somebody, taking defensive action, or otherwise feeling like he’s backed into a corner and making the best of some very bad and limited options, looking out for himself because (he believes) no one else cares to. I can’t remember if he actually says “I had no choice” at any point but I feel like the idea is there in the first Thor movie, especially when he’s telling the Warriors that he’s the reason Odin rescued them from Jotunheim and also by the way Thor’s not ready to be king, and it just kind of keeps snowballing from there, decision after terrible decision made in response to Thor, Odin, the Warriors, Thanos and the Other, Thor and Odin again. His suicide attempt at the end of the first movie is a prime example–he’s making a choice, arguably, but I don’t think it seemed that way to him. I think it felt like letting go was his only real option. This is especially true again in TDW, where he’s reacting to and going along with others’ plans; even taking Odin’s throne at the end is as much a reaction against Odin and Thor as it is a choice for something.

And then in Ragnarok? Well, he starts out that way. He’s been generally fucking around on Asgard for three years and working out some of his issues in weird ways, again in reaction to Thor and Odin; then Thor shows up and Loki lets himself get dragged around, resulting in Loki somewhat stranded on Sakaar and again opportunistically making the best (…his best, anyway) of a not-super-ideal situation he didn’t choose. He keeps going in that vein for a while, where everything he does is some kind of reaction to the Grandmaster and an attempt to manipulate the existing situation, and I would bet that if he’d had a chance to talk longer when he was going to sell Thor out again, he would’ve said something along the lines of “come on, brother, you know what the Grandmaster’s like, I have to keep him happy, I didn’t have a choice.”

Except Thor is completely done with that. He short-circuits the whole process and leaves on a suicide mission to save Asgard because that’s his choice, and he forces Loki to think about what he actually wants and make a choice.

Once Korg showed up, Loki had plenty of options. He could’ve stayed on Sakaar and taken advantage of the revolution either to ingratiate himself with the Grandmaster or take over. He could’ve taken a ship and gone literally anywhere. Maybe Hela would’ve hunted him down eventually, but it’s a big universe and he’s good at disguising himself. He probably could’ve managed pretty well. Thor probably would’ve died, Asgard would’ve been destroyed, but Loki would survive by looking out for himself. He’s good at that too, after all. No one could really blame him for not wanting to throw his life away on a suicide mission.

Or he could do…the stupid thing. The Thor thing, not to put too fine a point on it. He could go through a not-really-stable wormhole, play the Big Damn Hero for once, and jump in on what is probably the losing side of a battle against the actual Goddess of Death. He could try to help Thor and save as many Asgardians as possible while running an extremely good chance of dying in the process.

And faced with that choice, he chooses Asgard. He chooses Thor. He commits, putting himself between Asgard’s people and their enemies and then going even further into danger without hesitation on what could’ve easily been a one-way trip to raise Surtur. He returns to Asgard’s remnant on the ship when it really would’ve been reasonable to take off and do his own thing after having helped save the day. He chooses–several times over–to take the hard, dangerous route for the sake of his people and his brother.

And I’m so fucking proud of him.)

can we just take a moment to appreciate billie joe armstrong?

billie joe is the frontman of american punk rock band green day. the band has been together since 1986 and throughout that entire time billie has been blessing the world with his amazing music and all around greatness

one of their albums was literally turned into a tony award winning broadway musical and it’s actually amazing

he’s super passionate about what he does

he says great stuff like this:

he’s got two kids and he’s the most punk rock dad look at him at his son’s graduation also both of his sons are older than me and i feel so young wtf??

he manages to make these bunny ears look punk af

also he can totally rock practically any hair colour. like honestly billie joe how??? 

he’s openly identified as bisexual since 1995 and wrote ‘Coming Clean’ about him coming to terms with his sexuality

he’s been married to his wife adrienne since 1994 and first met at one of green day’s first gigs when she approached him asking where she could buy one of their cds

look at how cute he and his entire family are wow so adorable

in short, not only is billie joe armstrong an incredible musician but he is also an excellent human being and i love him so much. this post serves no purpose other than just me crying over this amazing man

jalapeno--business  asked:

So whenever I read trc, I'm always overwhelmed by this almost pathological desire to experience the same feelings of wonder and beauty and magic that you describe in the series. Yes, I understand that there is no sentient, magical forest to discover, and no sleeping king that I can search for, but I still have this urge to have similar feelings and experiences in my life. So how do you experience a similar kind of magic and wonder that you describe in your books, in everyday life?

Dear jalapeno–business,

Are you listening closely?

As an author, I travel a lot. At one point, I was on the road one day out of every three — planes, hotels, rental cars. There’s a rhythm to it, like running up a very long flight of stairs. You figure out how many stairs you can take in a jump, and how to breathe-in-breathe-out to keep from wasting your lungs, and you learn how to tell when you have to stop to rest your knees or you just won’t make it to the top. 

The airports and the planes and the people can all start to seem the same after awhile, if you’re looking at them wrong. If you let them. Anything in life can sound ordinary if that’s all you’re listening for.

Back in 2014, I was in a Texas airport. The night had that glittering senseless jitter to it that happens when you’re tired but going home, finally going home. I was early for my flight and sitting several gates away from my real gate, listening to music. A young man sat down two seats away. Ordinarily, tired and occupied with the peculiar every-day magic of the music in my headphones, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but a moment later, a phone rang. He asked if it was mine; it wasn’t. Someone had forgotten it on the seat between us. 

We both looked at it.

It rang again for someone who didn’t know to pick up, and then he took it away to one of the United desks for them to give it to someone who would listen. He didn’t return.

Two hours later, I went to my real gate to board. Full flight. Everyone was checking and double-checking their seat assignments as they defended their right to aisles and windows. When my seatmate settled himself next to me, I looked up, and it was the guy from the waiting area. He had a tilt to his chin that telegraphed that he thought he was hot shit and a grin that said he recognized me. 



We laughed ruefully and applied our headphones — we both knew the routine of polite air travel. But the agreeable tingle of the coincidence still ate at me, and I could tell it ate at him, too, because after a few moments, he offered me a truffle from his bag. I told him I couldn’t take it because of my allergies, but the headphones came off. We started to talk.

And he was a big talker. He was cocky. A surgical resident. He told me how he loved the hell out of taking internal organs out of people. He described how he listened to sixty-minute epic soundtracks in his ear buds while he removed appendixes and gallbladders, kidneys and stones. He told me of watching Dateline by himself at the end of seventy and eighty hour work weeks, and he told me about his Hyundai, which I made fun of. Confidentially, he whispered to me about a surgeon he knew who had the goal of removing every gallbladder in Texas. Two hours into the flight, the conversation tilted toward spirituality. He’s hot shit, he confessed, and works hard, but he sometimes wonders if he’s allowed to want to be successful, or if that makes him a bad person. Because he’s working a lot of hours in a week, and he’s tired, but he’s pretty sure that he’s hot shit, but maybe that’s not allowed.

I was watching him fumble his fingers over each other. He was scratching a hole in his own palm.

And all at once there was a phone in my head, and it was ringing just for me. 

“One of your parents has obsessive-compulsive disorder,” I told him. “Maybe both.”

The shimmering grin slipped. “How did you know? How could you know that?” 

I asked him if he was getting treatment for it.

He said, “No, no, I’m over it. How could you know that?”

Because in a foggy way, that phone was still ringing between us, and now, I recognized the number.

I said, “Don’t kill yourself.”

He replied, “No way,” and then he started to cry. 

The shit-eating grin had vanished. He told me how he’d made up his mind that he didn’t want to make it to 35. He’d researched all the ways to make sure he didn’t. Over the next hour, I told him about my OCD, and how I thought his uncertainty over wanting to be successful but also wanting to be humble was a function of his OCD’s spiritual obsession. That he wasn’t over OCD, that you never were, but that his agony didn’t have to be a real thing. He could be both humble and successful. It wasn’t against the rules of goodness to be proud of what you’d done, as long as you were doing things for the right reasons. I told him how once I bought a race car, but I’d given it away to someone who could use the money, because I realized I was only racing to look sexy in a car, and not because it was really making me happy. 

I told him he didn’t have to worry about looking sexy in a Hyundai, though, and he replied that he would look sexy in anything, and then he cried a little more. 

Everyone else in the plane was asleep, but we were wide awake.

When we got off the plane in Virginia, the surgical resident gave me an awkward side-hug, and he wiped his face. Then he dug in his bag for the wrapper from his truffle. As the other travelers shuffled past us sleepily, he pressed it into my hand. He didn’t want to give me his name, he said, but he wanted something for me to remember so that when we ran into each other again in 15 years, I’d know who he was.

After we’d parted ways, I turned my phone off airplane mode, and a text came in that had been sent while I was in the air. It was from the person I’d given the race car to. I hadn’t heard from him in nearly six months. The text said only: thank u maggie i have such a hppy life bc of u


You have to be listening closely. Phones are ringing all over the world, and sometimes they look like magical forests, and sometimes they look like race cars, and sometimes they look like surgical residents.



sometimes i think I’ll never be happy until i own a well-tailored victorian era suit


Crooked Kingdom: This was the kiss he’d been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire. It was the spin of Makker’s Wheel. Jesper felt the pounding of his heart— or was it Wylan’s?

when u rewatch hannibal and remember why it owned ur entire ass for 2 years but being into hannibal is passé, circa 2014 Tumblr Culture and u gotta chill bc you have an Image™ to maintain