SJ's Library @archangelunmei - Tumblr Blog

We are a trans and queer married couple living in MO, but we want to move back to Ill… ANNA SNELL needs your support for Help Anna and Max Get a New Apartment

hate to come back specifically to post a gofundme but lmao

if you wanna help out someone trans n queer this pride month, donations would be greatly appreciated

#these are some good friends of mine #even a signal boost would be great ;-;

wumbreon

The Middle

I wrote and illustrated this story as a birthday present for my partner, I hope you enjoy it!

doorstoplord

“Describe homestuck” is a weird question, because you can describe the overarching plot but not the weird branches it shoots off into

Like, “Homestuck is about a reality altering video game that comes about at the end of every world that, if beaten, allows the players to become gods of the next world. we follow four kids from our world who play it, the aliens from the previous game that made our world, and a ‘reboot’ game that comes about when ours fails.”

And then someone asks about how the fuck Betty Crocker plays into it and you don’t fucking know how to answer without a goddamn essay

oh-mother-of-darkness

Your power is out but I guide you down the hallway with my sickass light-up shoes

oh-mother-of-darkness

Stop

vonraptor

No no, keep going.

wreckofthewoods

just dont look back

ragingpunsexual

I love the idea of Spock being super queer, highly expressive and very emotional from a Vulcan view point. Like...

What humans see:

What Vulcans see:

nudityandnerdery

Vulcans seeing Kirk as a version of Gritty seems incredibly accurate, too.

capitola

Homestuck should come with a warning label, but the problem is that that warning label would look something like “someday you will be an adult with your own apartment putting away a container of plain, nonfat yogurt, because somewhere along the line you became a person who eats plain, nonfat yogurt for breakfast, and the expiration date on the yogurt will say ‘April 13′ and you’ll think ‘ah, Homestuck yogurt’ and you’ll just have to live with the emotions that come with that.”

And I don’t know what page that warning label should go on.

mightier

dawnglow rise and shine, love

#FFXIV #wol x g'raha tia

naslostcontrol

NICOLA COUGHLAN as PENELOPE FEATHERINGTON

BRIDGERTON, 2020

ceescedasticity

Me: It feels a bit… noisy today, brain, is something going on?

My brain: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Me: …

My brain: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Me: You want to, uh, elaborate on that?

My brain: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Me: …

Me: I guess it’s going to be one of those days.

My brain: (eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee)

ceescedasticity

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

ceescedasticity

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE

ceescedasticity

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeee

weaver-z

Every DnD game that starts out with a serious “Lord of the Rings” type of tone turns into a Monty Python sketch and every DnD game that starts out like a Monty Python sketch turns into Lord of the Rings

weaver-z

DnD game with characters named Kua the Brave, Enoch Bluehelm, and Hallow Greaves: Our current mission is to save the kingdom from the Dark Queen Ravenbone but we fucked up a charisma roll and now Kua and Ravenbone are dating and the king of Fendale was turned into a frog

DnD game with characters named Bunny Wabbit, Ford Trukk, and Dildo Baggins: Our current mission is to find a birthday present for a spoiled prince but in the process we found a lich planning to devour the life force of everyone in the land and Dildo gave his life to stop him in a scene so moving it won the Newberry Medal

theaustinstollhaus

If you give your players room to do whatever they want, including be silly, they will most often choose to express themselves. And you'd be amazed how much you'll start to care about characters once people have attached little pieces if their soul to them.

If you try to enforce a "serious" tone, it just makes the gags funnier, and your players will treat you with the same casual blasphemy orangutans show to God.

a-humble-waffle

"the same casual blasphemy orangutans show to God" WHAT THE FUCK I'M DECEASED

worldheritagepostorganization

World Heritage Post

ep-0000

Thor and Pikachu have something in common.

Steve Rogers was born with the shield. The serum just added wings to him.

Vision and his long-lost puppy.

Avengers and Pokemon drawings. I had a lot of fun.

licoricefern

what does it say about us as a culture that most of our microwaves have a dedicated popcorn button

cognito-ergo-hazard

i dont know but whatever it says, its magnified by literally every bag of popcorn saying “don’t use the popcorn button”

prokopetz

Funnily enough, there’s an answer for that.

In brief, the “popcorn” button was initially introduced by fancy high-end microwaves that used an integrated humidity sensor to tell when your popcorn was done; microwaveable popcorn vents steam as it cooks, so by monitoring the amount of steam in the cooking chamber, you can get pretty close to perfectly popped popcorn every time (though it’s generally only pretty close, since different brands of microwaveable popcorn have different moisture content).

As the feature became popular, manufacturers of cheap microwaves started adding a button labelled “popcorn” as well, in order to imply that they offer this feature. These “popcorn” buttons simply run the microwave for a fixed amount of time that the manufacturer figures is close enough to the printed cooking time of most commercial brands.

In practice, of course, the fixed-time “popcorn” button usually just sets your popcorn on fire. To make matters worse, owing to America’s permissive advertising laws, microwave manufacturers are allowed to make all sorts of misleading-but-technically-true statements in their packaging and instruction manuals, rendering it nearly impossible to tell whether a given model of microwave has a real humidity-sensing “popcorn” button or a fake fixed-time “popcorn” button before buying it.

In summary: the “popcorn” button that your microwave popcorn instructs you not to use exists because American microwave manufacturers are using a misleadingly labelled button in order to imply that their product has a feature that it does not in fact have, in a way that can potentially trick people into burning their houses down, for advertising purposes. This is perfectly legal.

So: what does that say about our culture?

tiktoks-for-dead-pope

treetopview

does anyone else kind of.. enjoy spoilers ?? like they're sort of a relief because then I know whether or not something is worth investing in watching or reading or not

I'm not gonna be disappointed if it doesn't turn out how I want plus I'm not going to fast forward and skip through large parts of it to find out what happens, which I'm embarrassed that I do I just don't have the patience

Is that just a me thing or do other people do that too? Is that an adhd thing?

I just do way better watching things if I already know the entire synopsis and can predict kinda when things will happen like landmarks in a movie that help me through

Please tell me this is an actual thing and not just me

bomberqueen17

ok so recently i wanted to read a book to my niece, who just turned 7, that I thought she’d like. but it had some scary parts in it, that might be too much for her. she’s tough, but she’s sensitive too, like any kid her age.

so what did i do? I spoilered it. I said “hey this kid runs into some monsters that are gonna try to eat him, and then they chase him and it’s very suspenseful. You think that would be too scary?”

She considered it. “Do they eat him in the end?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then no,” she said. And then, when we were about to hit the Big Reveal that this person who had helped him was secretly actually a man-eating monster, she lit up and was like “IS THIS WHEN IT HAPPENS” and I was like “SHH yes!” and she was like “AHH YEAH” and loved it.

I don’t think spoilers are just for kids, though. I’m now so Tired of conventional media’s endless race for The More Shocking Ending that I refuse to watch shit when I don’t know how it’s going to end. It’s not that I don’t have the emotional resilience to handle unexpected things (well, sometimes I don’t, honestly, and have no shame about that), it’s that if the unexpected thing is the “fuck you if you liked these characters ha ha ha!” plot twist, I just don’t have the time to invest in your fictional world. If you can’t respect me as an audience then I have other shit to do with my time.

Even my own writing-- I dithered a bit in my latest series, which was going to hinge on a dead character being revealed to really be alive. I did my best to avoid spoilers as I was writing the thing, but now I’ve posted it and I figured, the thing to do is just to-- tag it for the reveal. It’s not worth trying to be coy or people won’t know whether they want to read your shit.

terrie01

I stand by my view that if knowing the twist ruins your story, your story is poorly written. Like, I appreciate that some people love the thrill of discovery, and as such, I support making sure people don’t stumble over spoilers without warning. But I’m sick and tired of stories that go “Ha, ha, tricked you!” or confuse shock value with suspense.

ruffboi-mags

A little detail on Percy that I didn’t see until just now… A little family portrait! Sojourner, Spirit, Opportunity, Curiosity, and Perseverance, all in a cute little graphical representation right on Percy’s back.

I’m literally crying again y’all, I fucking love these babies.

drst

Its like a rear window decal of the family I can’t

ruffboi-mags

#stoppppp is this real??? (via @dreamtrek)

It is! Here’s a clearer image via Percy’s twitter:

ok-fandom

I woke up out of a dead sleep to make this and then immediately passed back out

livelaughlacroix

I raise u

awkwordalex

Trainer Alex wants to battle!

hirudo-verbana

I add

deebyfeeby

please consider

velvet-vagabond

A new challenger enters the stage

serperoir

how about…

inthefallofasparrow

dearherondale

I found this youtube comment and honestly,,,, true

officialleehadan

Underworld Duet

“She will follow you, if you remain true to your purpose,” Persephone said, icy and beautiful, with asphodel in her hair, and embroidered on her dress. She sat beside her husband, Hades, and looked down on Orpheus, her face utterly unreadable, “But if you cast a single gaze upon her before she leaves the Underworld, she will be lost to you until time ends.”

“Thank you,” Orpheus said, desperately grateful. His fingertips ached, blistered and bleeding as he played his plea to the gods who had no reason to give him what he requested of them. The return of his beloved wife, who had fled for her life, and lost it trying to escape. “Your Majesties, thank you. I will write a thousand songs in your honor.”

“You had best go,” Hades said, the first words he had spoken since Orpheus arrived. “The journey is long, and fraught with danger. It will not be easy.”

Orpheus took the dismissal for what it was, bowed again, and made his way out of the grand, dark, pillar-lined hall. Here and there, flowers sprouted up through cracks in the stone, the mark of the queen who was only here half the year, and must be dearly missed when she was gone.

Maybe his plea, and the mercy he received in return, made more sense than he thought. Surely there were none who understood the longing for a beloved spouse better than the king and queen of the underworld.

Hades’ warning struck him, and Orpheus fought with himself, with the urge to look back and make sure Eurydice was there, following behind him. The gods were fond of their tricks and traps, but they rarely lied outright.

Well, he hoped they didn’t, anyway.

On and on he went, out of the grand, black-stone palace, into the sprawling, twilight orchards beyond. It was beautiful and peaceful. Sprawling gardens filled the warm air with the scent of citrus flowers and herbs. Fireflies winked their green-gold lights everywhere, and danced in clouds around the hazy ghosts who walked and laughed together. Off in the distance, he heard music and longed to join.

But no. He was here with a goal, and everything here would tempt him, or frighten him, or try to distract him from his purpose.

And he had to have faith in Euridice. She was behind him. Persephone said she would be, and he could only trust, because to look back for her would be to lose her.

When they came to the River Lethe, Orpheus began to fear. After all, the River of Forgetfulness was no small challenge, and he wasn’t fool enough to think that it would not test him, although he would, at least, not have to ford it. There was a bridge, although it was not what Orpheus might call ideal. A rickety thing of woven branches and rough wood, it cracked under his feet, but it held.

It wasn’t until he made it across, that Orpheus heard a faint sound. The sound of a foot on the bridge, barely there, as if from far away, but only a step behind him.

That sound, that faint sound, gave him hope. Euridice was there. She was with him. The gods had not lied, or broken their bargain.

It also gave him an idea.

Music had gotten him this far. Perhaps it would take them just a few steps further.

His fingers ere too damaged to keep playing, but there was nothing wrong with his voice, and so, hopefully, he started on a song he wrote long ago, when he first fell in love with his wife, and heard her lovely voice.

It was a song for two, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit how frightened he was, how his heart caught, when he came to the end of his verse, and hers began.

For a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, he thought she would not, could not reply, but then her sweet, warm alto filled the air, a little tense, a little afraid, but as true as ever.

Orpheus would have wept at the sound.

The song wasn’t a long one, but he started another as soon as it ended, and another, and another. Together, they sang their way through Tartarus. Through the tortured, evil dead who howled around them and tried to drag him off the narrow path that sometimes faded to almost nothing under his feet. The gods had not told him what had happened if he left the path, but then, they didn’t have to. He knew the legends of those who left the path.

The path turn back to a road until the sky light with flame and they came to another river, this one deep, and angry, and blazing with fire.

The River Phlegethon. The river if fire, that bordered Tartarus, and imprisoned the lost souls within.

Orpheus was glad that Euridice had started them on battle songs of coming home almost an hour before, or his courage, shaken form hours of walking through the tortured dead, might have failed him. The bridge here was stone, but as fragile, as frail, and as frightening. Pebbles rolled off the sides when Orpheus stepped onto the thin stone, and his voice broke as he stumbled to his knees. In harmony with him, Euridice gasped, but she didn’t stop singing. Didn’t stop promising she was there.

Together, they made it across, into the slums of the undistinguished dead.

Here, they were followed, although not closely. The dead could not touch them. Not marked as they were by Cause under the authority of the queen herself, but they gathered near, listening to the songs, and whispering amongst themselves. Orpheus raised his voice louder, afraid to lose Euridice in the crowd. She answered him, strong and clear, and only a step behind him, always.

After what seems like hours more, Orpheus found his voice beginning to give out, but he sang on determinedly, unwilling to give up when victory was so close to hand.

At last, finally, they came to the last river in their journey.

So wide he could not see the other side, the Styx spread out like an ocean, and on the shore, the sandy shore, was a single boat.

“I wondered if you would make it back this way,” Chiron greeted Orpheus with a cackling laugh that was mostly hidden by his thick beard and hood. He had ferried Orpheus across only a day before, paid with one of the three gold coins Orpheus brought with him. “The ferry is not free, Bard.”

“I know,” Orpheus said hoarsely, his first spoken words since he left the palace. He dug in his purse and pulled out the coins he kept, carefully packed with the thinnest hope, and how proffered with more of the same. “A coin for each of us, to see us back to the land of the living.”

“Nice to see one of you heroes has the sense to pack for the trip,” Chiron said, begrudgingly impressed. He took the coins and nodded to the boat. “You’re not out, yet.”

“I know,” Orpheus agreed. It was a warning, he knew. They weren’t out, and until they were, he did not dare look back. Could not make sure that Eurydice made it into the boat as well. “Thank you, Ferryman.”

“Get in the boat, boy.”

He got in the boat.

On through the unmarked grey waters they sailed, with barely the lap of waves against the side of the narrow boat to show their passing.

With nothing to do but wait, Orpheus cast his mind over the many sailing songs he knew, chose Eurydice’s favorite, another duet, and started to sing.

Chiron’s laughter punctuated Eurydice’s voice when she joined. In, on time and on key as ever.

Hours passed, as they passed songs back and forth, flirting and joking as they sang silly songs, and bawdy ones, and ones of coming home after a long time at sea.

Through it all, the Ferryman behind him never stopped chuckling. It might have been frightening, but Orpheus thought that maybe it was a compliment too. That his laughter was in celebration of cleverness that rarely crossed his path.

When they came to the far shore, the boat nudged into the sand, and Orpheus caught himself, right before he looked back to thank Chiron for his service.

“You paid me, boy,” the Ferryman said from somewhere behind him. “don’t spoil it with thanks. Go on.”

Orpheus went.

The air was fresher, here. They were close, and now the songs shifted to those of love newly discovered. Not all were duets, but any song would be sung in harmony, and so they tangled their voices together and kept walking.

It wasn’t until Orpheus felt sunlight on his face that he realized, he was out. Out of the Underworld and back where he started this daring, foolish, hopeful journey.

He went to turn, but Euridice’s voice raised sharply, and she cut her loving song off for one of warning, a song for children, to teach them not to trust all they saw.

And Orpheus remembered.

The game was not done. Not until she took her final step into the weak, late winter sunshine.

So he kept walking. Kept singing. Kept hoping.

Until at last, the song faded, and a voice he mourned for, as hoarse as his own, spoke from just behind him.

“We’ll have to write a duet about this.”

And all Orpheus could do was laugh as he turned around, at last, to see his wife standing there, just a single step out of the Underworld, and smiling with tears of joy in her eyes.

+++

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