Book&tv Fandom

pseudomantis:

pseudomantis:

Those mods that replace female characters with male characters in games but keep the female animations really highlight how fucking insane and ridiculous the animations for women in video games usually are

Serious spine injury someone take that thing to the vet!

(via hkxxzw)

anatomyofacowboy:

Andrew Garfield on losing his mother, The Believer

(via kitkat-bar)

hacash:

hacash:

hacash:

hacash:

hacash:

consider this: given how much the hobbits are said to love legalese and documentation, I think when the shirriffs tried to arrest Frodo and company on their return Frodo should have just refused on the basis that they have no official proof that he is, in fact, Frodo Baggins

Head Shirriff: sir several times in the past half hour your companions have referred to you as Frodo’, ‘Mister Frodo’, or ‘Frodo Baggins’

Frodo: please, that’s circumstantial evidence at best

Head Shirriff: I’ve lived in Hobbiton for 50 years; I literally recognise you as Frodo Baggins

Frodo: yeah, but you’re clearly a biased witness. that wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, and I for one am very insulted by this slander that I look like Frodo Baggins

Head Shirriff: *vague whimpering noises*

Merry: Honestly, what is the Shire coming to when any respectable hobbit can be accused of the scandal of being Frodo Baggins?

Robin Smallburrow, having the most fun he’s had in over a year: clearly the only way to settle this is to get the proper documentation in order. sir, do you happen to have any certification proving that you are Frodo Baggins?

Frodo: sadly I don’t.

Robin Smallburrow: well I did the best I could

this post is being reblogged again so consider this: Sam, Merry and Pippin all pull an ‘I’m Spartacus’ and all claim to be Frodo Baggins, but of course the shirriffs can’t arrest them all because they only have one warrant for one Frodo Baggins’ arrest.

the chief shirriff bursts into tears

(via kitkat-bar)

adreamingofguns:

thursdaygirlgn:

queenofmoons:

maliksiarmanaz:

shiv2:

heavensickness:

heavensickness:

ppl romanticize reading poems like silently drinking hot tea, sitting under a blanket by the fireplace like in a period drama etc. when it actually feels like this

Since this post got notes, let’s share one poem which makes us feel this way. I’ll start

(by @seravph)

For Henry, Who Has Just Gone by Neil Hilborn

(content warnings: pet death, depression, suicidal ideation)

Henry was my pet rat, and he died
last night in my hands. He was three
years old, which is way longer than

an albino rat is supposed to live. To be
honest, he wasn’t a very smart animal,
but he was so sweet that now I wonder

if intelligence has anything to do
with leading a good life. He had been sick
for a few months, and every twelve hours

I had to apply antiseptic and lotion
to both his back feet. By the end
they didn’t really work anymore,

so he would just drag his feet behind him in a way
so cute and sad that I started calling him my little
sea lion. When he died it was, somehow,

a surprise: you would think that when your rat
is older than older than dirt and has been sick for months
you’d be sort of prepared: after I had laid out the towel

and mixed the solution, I picked him
up and noticed his breathing
was s slow. I lay down with him

on the towel, the towel where we’d spent
the last few months, where I think we
finally, really, completely loved each other,

not like humans do: humans always want
something from you and he and I
would rather just be together than apart,

and I pulled him toward me, and he chittered in that way
that always meant he was wind coming in after a rain,
his head fell forward, and there was so much less

light in the room. The lamp was so far away,
like the light of a house to which there is no
road. I know, he was just a rat. So many

just like him, all white, red eyes,
die every day and only one or two people
in white coats are even there to see it.

He was all in white, he was always there
to see me. When I would wake from a nightmare,
so many nightmares, I would turn on the light

and there he was, holding on, a constant companion
to a prisoner, the prison being the apartment,
the world being inside his cage. Once I was crying

in bed because of who knows why, and he sat beside
my face and licked my tears away. I had a rat
once, named Henry. Named Buddy. Named Mr. Big

Mouse. Named proof that something could need me
and still love me. Named please
can I have some of your apple? Or I know

you’re sad but I’m hungry. Don’t go; if you go
I won’t survive: a child reaches for her father;
a couple, buried in ash, dies holding each other;

a man and a woman in an office, crying slightly,
sign sheets of paper; sparrows fall out of the sky together.
Some day I’m going to have a child. She’s going to have

eyes like mine and such small hands. Just like
she’ll need me alive then, she needs me alive
now; I can’t say goodbye before I’ve had a chance

to say hello. I don’t stare off bridges anymore.
I don’t count out little blue exit signs and even today,
with Henry buried under a tree, a tree somewhere so far away

it feels like someone else buried him using my body,
today I came home and only wanted to sleep
for twenty minutes instead of always. Something needed

me once, and I know something will need me
again. One day I’m going to have a daughter.
She’s going to sleep through the night

sometimes. She is a light on a rock
at the edge of a lonely see. You see that light
out there? That’s where I’m headed. That’s home.

(via kitkat-bar)

bisexualbaker:

hollyevolving:

maevefinnartist:

be-bhinn:

today im thinkin about how the british caused the famine that almost decimated the irish population entirely and then claimed they helped fix it by forcing the irish to work for pennies to try to buy their own food back from the british and not starve

I think a lot about how nobody helped because they didn’t see it as genocide, they saw it as “just a famine”, but the Choctaw nation recognized it as a deadly symptom of colonization and saw the Irish people as comrades in suffering and they took up a collection fund and sent Ireland several thousand dollars.

“Kindred Spirits is a large stainless steel outdoor sculpture in Bailick Park in Midleton, County Cork, Ireland.

Kindred Spirits commemorates the 1847 donation by the Native American Choctaw People to Irish famine relief during the Great Hunger, despite the Choctaw themselves living in hardship and poverty and having recently endured the Trail of Tears.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kindred_Spirits_(sculpture)

In honor of the Choctaw people who once gave so much in times when they themselves were already stretched thin, many Irish people are now donating to the Navajo and Hopi Covid Relief Fund.

lordkingsmith:

heckyeahponyscans:

So in the past few years I’ve seen so many videos / posts that are like:

“Actually wolves don’t have hierarchies!  They live in family groups where the ‘alphas’ are mom and dad and the other wolves are their CHILDREN and offer their respect willingly! :D”

and I just have to say

how dare you try to make normative nuclear families out of wolves

Yes, a lot of the old “nature red in tooth and claw” stuff about wolves is nonsense. (Like anything from Jack London.) And anything ‘alpha’ you see sleazy men trying to relate to dating (yikes!) is especially nonsense.

But wolves are complex social creatures and they create complex social structures. Just as you can’t say “THIS is the way human society is structured. Just THIS single way and no other”, so too there is no single form for a wolf pack.  

Some packs are a mom wolf and a dad wolf and their wolf children.  Others are two small ragged packs that combine to form a large pack.  Others are packs where a lone wolf joins and eventually becomes a leader. Others are packs where a grown child-wolf has pushed their parent out of the leadership role.

Speaking of the latter, let’s look at the tale of Wolf 40 and Wolf 42.

Wolf 40, Wolf 41, and Wolf 42 were wild Yellowstone wolves, daughters of the alphas. Their father was illegally killed by hunters and shortly after ambitious Wolf 40 ousted her mother, driving her out of the pack.  Wolf 21 became the new alpha male, and 40′s mate.

Wolves have personalities, and Wolf 40′s personality was “volatile”.  Imagine Scar from The Lion King combined with the boss from Office Space, and you have Wolf 40.  She habitually bullied the other female wolves, attacking them until they expressed abject submission.  And the wolves that got the worst of it were her sisters, Wolves 41 and 42.

Wolf 41 got tired of the bullying and left.  Wolf 42 remained, perhaps because she was close to Wolf 21, the alpha male.  Despite that, Wolf 21 did not interfere when his mate harassed Wolf 42.

Unlike 40, Wolf 42 got along well with the other female wolves, spending time grooming them and relaxing with them. Wolf 40 could have followed her sister’s example and built up positive social bonds. But she didn’t.

One day, Wolf 40 went out on an important task.  She was going to kill another litter of her sister’s pups–having done the same in two previous years.  This isn’t uncommon wolf behavior (but is not universal, as we will see.)  Typically only the alphas breed.

However, Wolf 40 never returned from her important task because Wolf 42–who previously had submitted to her alpha and sister, who had allowed the killing of two previous litters of pups–had had enough.  She fought back.

And the other female wolves jumped to aid her.

Collectively, they killed Wolf 40. Because “alpha” isn’t a magic cloak of protection, it doesn’t even mean “strongest wolf”, it’s just a job title.

The next day Wolf 42 carried her pups, one by one, to her sister’s den.  She set her children among the pups of her dead sister and raised both litters together. And when another wolf in the pack had pups, Wolf 42 carried them to the den to be communally raised as well.  She was the alpha female now and she made the rules, and the first rule was “we don’t hurt pups here.”

As for Wolf 21, he became the mate of Wolf 42.  Maybe he understood that Wolf 40 had been riding for a fall. 

As alpha female, Wolf 42 continued to be supportive and kind towards the other pack members.  Wolves who had been nervous wrecks under Wolf 40 began to relax and come into their own; one of the former omega wolves gained self-confidence and became one of the best hunters.

“Alpha”, for wolves, just means leader.  They might be good leaders, whom you respect, or they might be bad leaders, who fill you with dread.  They might be your parents, or they might not.  Even if they are your mother or father, wolves don’t contextualize those relationships the same way humans do.

But one thing wolves have in common with humans is that they have individual personalities and experiences, and their actions derive from those.  There is no “typical wolf pack.” And I think that’s beautiful.

If you want to learn more about wild wolf dynamics, I recommend reading the annual Yellowstone Wolf Project Reports.  Which are FASCINATING.  There are also some good wildlife specials out there.

Wolves are my favorite animal. <3  It pains me to see them misunderstood as crazed bloodthirsty brutes, but it also pains me to see them woobified.  They deserve better than that.

There’s a fascinating documentary that actually watches more like a generational drama about the Yellowstone packs, and these wolves were in it. It’s a very good starting point for the wide diversity of packs.

(via gailcarriger)

wakandama2:

lesbidreaming:

gleerant:

gleerant:

strugglingpansexual:

proudlyunicorn:

gleerant:

gleerant:

gleerant:

proudlyunicorn:

proudlyunicorn:

I wish lesbians were as easy to find in real life as they are on tumblr

11 FUCKING THOUSAND NOTES ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WHERE ARE YOU ALL COME DATE ME

ok

update: we are dating

update: we are married

update: we knocked up

This is the cutest story on the entirety of Tumblr, I swear to god!!!!!

Update: had a baby together

Update: he’s 1 year old today

Well this is adorable!

This is the top quality I want on my dash. No other post besides this and Mash Potato the dog matters on this site.

(via h1mydarling)

inkskinned:

i thought, for a long time, that i had to keep my passions private.

he didn’t like the poetry. it would fly around in the bedroom with us. little words like gnats; all caught up in a smokescreen. i was used to this kind of thing - i would only enjoy my own writing with a flinch. i would apologize. i know, there’s nothing real about an internet poet.

my friends didn’t like to read anything i liked. they didn’t like my music. they didn’t like the way i sang or how i laughed or how i’d dress. i told myself this is normal - we all have different passions, after all. one thing is sweet to me, too-sour to another.

i didn’t know. i thought friends were just mean sometimes, and you couldn’t expect them to be excited. i thought love happened only half in the sunlight. shy about anything i liked. for a long time the people i met all loved the word “myopic”. they refused to do anything without promising it was ironic.

i didn’t know. it seemed easier, you know? to just hide all of it. it felt pathetic, begging people please just watch this. please read this. please try this. you’ll like it, i know it.

my sister bought me house plants for the holiday. she doesn’t keep them, she just knows i like them. my friend recently collected a list of 50 books with lgbt+ characters in them, ones where nobody dies in the end. she says she keeps an eye out for them, because i mentioned once i’d been looking to expand my list. the other day my roommate made me fish tacos even though he hates fish - he said i know you’re having a hard day, and these are one of your favorites.

people don’t have to “get it”. but the good ones will try, anyway. the good ones will get excited with you. they buy you the concert tickets even though they don’t know any of the music. they know all the actors of the show even though they don’t have time to watch it. they ask you questions about the game even though they’ve never even seen the loading screen. they are happy that you are happy, and enjoying something harmlessly. they are just proud you are trying. particularly something creative - it is a dark world. to make something is powerful, and should be celebrated.

she holds my hand. she knows literally nothing about dnd, but lets me chatter about my new campaign for literally three hours, endlessly. in return, she and i discuss this anatomy book she’s reading. i don’t know half the words but i love that she finds it exciting. life in the sun like - oh, this is flying.

(via my-magicpotion)