me, begging this incurably obtuse garbage conglomerate of a website on bended fucking knee with tears streaming down my face: please for the love of god consider that ur tendency to subconsciously categorize lesbians as being uniquely prone to meanness and oversensitivity might be partially because u are trained, socially, to see us as shrieking unfeminine caricatures rather than full fledged people with complex emotional lives
a rando, stumbling across my humble post with their eyes blissfully closed to the vast and terrifying world of context-appropriateness: but what about my great-uncle’s nephew’s brother-in-law’s first cousins “roommate” from her time at vassar, who showed up at our family reunion wreathed in foul black smoke and shorn of hair and spent the evening spitting poison onto the hors d’oeuvres and calling my great great grand-papá a cuck
what she means:
jughead jones woke up at 5:45 am to take a shower before anyone got to school but his phone was only charged to 75% and it takes an iPhone 6 approximately two hours to charge to 75% and that means jughead only got 2 hours of sleep but that's also assuming his phone was dead when he plugged it in before bed so it could've been less
On my walk in the woods today I came across this beech tree and I almost cried.
It’s such a gorgeous old tree, with such a smooth and elegant bark. I don’t understand why anyone would carve their fucking name into it. First of all, it;’s bad for the tree - it’s the tree’s skin, and it can introduce infection and fungus into the flesh of the tree and give destructive insects a foothold.
It’s so beautiful, and I want to see it whole. Why the actual fuck would anyone find a beautiful tree like this and think, “Carving my name into it would look nice”? No. Fuck no.
So I think we should start a new superstition: Carving your name into a tree will incur loads of bad luck. Or, alternatively, the forest spirits will follow you around and torment you. Or earth witches will copy your name down and perform a mega-curse on you.
so im disabled, and i have a disabled d&d character. i didnt like not having an in-game mechanic to express my character’s disability in more than words, so i decided to make some and then ended up making others.
a lot of these were made while consulting someone who has the disability or from my own firsthand experience, but some aren’t. if you want to critique some of my choices, message me! i’ll be able to either edit the ruleset or explain my reasoning, and i want it to be the best it can be.
note: a lot of the save DCs are left vague in this so you and your DM can determine how difficult they are to meet.
this is under a cut because it’s really long and so i can update it. if you want to see something added, message me!
(#dungeons and dragons, #long post, #death cw, #limb trauma)
Major TAZ spoilers here but like how do you think that Sazed guy feels now that he knows Taako’s entire story like do you think he knows he can never show his face ever again or risk incurring the wrath of an entire crew of alien badasses including two liches and also Taako’s loving boyfriend the Grim Fucking Reaper? Anyway I am LIVING
“The theater company has already sold out of both women-only screenings and told Mashable it is planning to bring the idea to other locations. “That providing an experience where women truly reign supreme has incurred the wrath of trolls only serves to deepen our belief that we’re doing something right,” creative manager Morgan Hendrix told the publication.”
M/MA/R/18 Rated Franchise Fanbase:
generally gets along pretty decently, minimal shipping wars, teenagers into it are either edgy idiots that get mocked into oblivion or are surprisingly funny and mature. Jokes casually and memes about horrifying events in story. Generally friendly with the original creators/actors/artists. Closely examines and philosophizes about the themes. The weird, disturbing, transgressive and taboo porn is casually passed around and consumed with minimal drama. Make a mixture of mature, dark and silly fanfic. Generally a relaxed community.
Children's Series/Broadly All Ages Fanbases:
bake needles into cookies given to fanartists, harass creators and actors when they do the wrong ship. Sexually harasses actors and cosplayers. Obsessive policing of even the most vanilla porn. Fanfic is frequently edgy to a self parodying degree. Discourse over EVERYTHING. FICTION IS REALITY. Rancorous screaming about the themes. Teenagers are all horrible, adults are even worse. A tense environment where nobody wants to speak openly lest they incur the wrath of the Big Fans.
So Chat Noir has the reputation in the Miraculous fandom for incurable punning, because Ladybug and Chat both make puns, but Ladybug occasionally rolls her eyes at his while he rolls with hers without comment, making incidents generally more memorable.
So I know the ‘Marinette hates puns’ interpretation is common, but.
Some of y’all are asking about the ritual with the scotch, so HERE IS A STORY THAT SPANS SEVERAL GENERATIONS OF SHENNANIGANS.
So my dad’s side of the family is a bunch of rowdy farm boys with a dark sense of humor. My oldest uncle Tim was the first to get married and the rest of them orchestrated this complicated, almost medieval style dance routine on the dance floor where they would switch dance partners mid-song and slowly danced the bride towards the door, swept her up, put her in the back of the pickup truck, and took her away.
Tim doesn’t notice until the song ends. This was in the 70′s, way before cell phones. The front desk of the hotel gets a call, it’s one of my uncles. “We have your wife. The price is one bottle of scotch.”
He’s like ‘what is this shit?’ And he figures they can’t hold out too long. They have to come back sometime. No. They are literally driving her around the block several times, stopping at pay phones to check in to see if he’s gotten the ransom. This goes on for about an hour.
So he goes out and gets a bottle of scotch, puts it by the door as they drive by and everyone returns.
All the boys got married in the order of their birth and let me just say… they’re not above petty payback. Next one up is Jay who just… seems to forget entirely that his brothers are complete jackasses. Also, he was kind of the ringleader at the last one so there’s no way they could do it to him!
Haha… ha…. haaaaaaaa… oh, uncle Jay. You sweet summer child… who is also several decades older than me.
Bride gets kidnapped, almost in the same manner as Tim’s. The price, as always, is a bottle of scotch. But Jay… oh… Jay…
Jay just HAD to get his ass married on a Sunday and this is Indiana, buck-o. There ain’t no alcohol sales on Sundays. No liquor stores, no grocery stores, no convenience stores. Nowhere. But there WAS a bar at the Marriott holding the reception. So he had to pay the front desk $75 for a bottle of scotch maybe worth $20 so he could get his wife back.
A pattern emerges.
My uncle Moe was next in line. They…. eloped for reasons, but for the purposes of this story we will say that he avoided a situation where his brothers could steal his wife. It’s kind of a personality thing with him, we’ve noticed. Just… ‘oh! Let me avoid this conflict entirely.’
Next up is my dad, who is a fun-loving dude who had his reception at a bowling alley and he was NOT, I repeat: NOT- going to have this night ruined by larceny when there is IMPORTANT BOWLING TO BE DONE. Buys a bottle of scotch and and presents it to his brothers with a big audience just so no one can claim that he didn’t. Everyone has fun.
Moe’s first marriage falls through, and I’m not saying that there’s superstitious reasons for this but I’m just saying- he most certainly DID NOT present a bottle of scotch as an offering at the reception so we must reasonably assume that this had something to do with it. He gets married again and you better believe that there was a bottle of scotch waiting for his brothers at their table.
So this tradition carried on into the next generation. No one actually expects that the four of them are up to kidnapping anyone when they’re well into their 50′s, but no one is about to risk it. There is a bottle of scotch at the table where the brothers sit at every wedding.
But my cousin Julia is a perfectionist and if there is any detail that might go wrong, she is going to obsess over it. Because of this, she has a tendency to overcompensate to make sure that NOTHING goes wrong. NOTHING.
She plans her big moment TO THE MINUTE and a week before the wedding she has this revelation… she has heard… stories.
Around the same time, my grandma is moving out of her old house and she’s inviting family members to rifle through her old things before she gives them to Goodwill. Me, my dad, Tim, and Jay are all there. We’re about to leave when Moe comes up the drive way with a BIG BOX.
And Gran is like ‘I don’t need more stuff… I don’t need more stuff.. what the fresh hell have you brought to me this time, son of mine?’
He sets it on the floor and it clinks.
“Julia has ordered me to bring this as a preemptive offer to ensure that there will be no need for a ransom.”
He has brought 24 bottles of scotch. Each brother, including himself, can have six bottles. Whatever debt might have been incurred from his first marriage has been paid off. Her children, and her children’s children, and her children’s children’s children… will no longer need to live in fear of kidnapping on their wedding night.
This is a sharp contrast to my sister-in-law, who learned of this tradition a week before her wedding, went out and bought a bottle of scotch, slammed it down on their table, and told them to fight for it.
Creo que la depresión es una enfermedad mortal, algo peor que un cáncer e incurable. La puedes controlar, a veces, con un poco de amor, amigos, sueños y otras cosas efímeras; pero siempre, siempre termina destruyendote. Cuando los demás logran notar cuanto caos hay dentro de ti es porque la melancolía te ha llevado al borde del precipicio y tal vez, ya es demasiado tarde.
movies that should exist: a pride & prejudice modern adaptation starring mindy kaling as elizabeth bennet & jessica chastain as darcy fitzwilliam
“ugh. you LOVE me?” “don’t make that face. it’s not like i want to. you’re loud and you talk too much about television for an adult and every single member of your family has friended me on facebook despite the fact that i’ve never spoken to most of them, and most of them have very poor punctuation. in fact, this whole situation is very embarrassing. like herpes. but like herpes, i don’t think it’s curable without taking action. so here i am. telling you. i love you.” “can you even hear yourself right now?” “so … what are your thoughts?” “what are my thoughts? about your i-love-you-like-herpes speech?? which, p.s., herpes is incurable. that shit’s always gonna flare up again.” “exactly. the metaphor is appropriate.”