Well That Just Happened

He/him, cis bi

[eledsart]

saint of love that goes away

[jediknight-light]

I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to look at that sword silhouette and not see the Greatsword of Artorias.

[papasmoke]

reading this made me empathize more with soviet film censors

[dulledtalons]

Transcript:

“I dislike social commentary. Like… I really hate it. When I’m reading a book, I just want to be entertained, not preached at by the author. Plus, it ruins the wonder of the story if I know the author has a political or social axe to grind. I no longer speculate about all possible outcomes of the story because I know for a fact that the universe of the book will conspire to ensure that the author’s political agenda is validated. I hate that,” Weir said. “I put no politics or social commentary into my stories at all. Anyone who thinks they see something like that is reading it in on their own. I have no point to make, and I’m not trying to affect the reader’s opinion on anything. My sole job is to entertain, and I stick to that.” “For instance, as a lifelong Star Trek fan, it’s always bothered me that there is a presumed ‘responsibility’ within Star Trek shows to talk about social issues,” the writer added. “I just want to watch Romulans and the Federation shoot at each other.”

Andy Weir, in Drinker’s VIP Lounge

[canichangemyblogname]

Collection of my favorite tags that really encapsulate how fucking dumb Weir’s take is.

[raccoonings]

As someone whose favorite books are Project Hail Mary and the Martian, Weir’s political views are right on track because if you read deeper into his stories, he can’t worldbuild for shit.

If you’ve read Artemis, the moment he stretches his writing ability to write a Saudi Arabian woman and the socioeconomics of a moon colony, it falls apart. One closer look and you go “but why” he basically goes “BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE”.

Same one person is a genius approach, but for women it’s I’m beautiful AND smart (which is really a whole other post). Weir is a genius at centralized, singular character motivated stories that center around his worldview or an extension of what he considers a utopia. Anything else? Bro doesn’t have the imagination because he doesn’t get the nuance of … anything lol.

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

been having health issues, in a foul mood, I DEMAND YOU TELL ME A STORY whilst i languish in bed like a sickly victorian lord wasting away from consumption (as my stoic but broad-shouldered valet gently wipes the sweat from my trembling brow)

[aroace-get-out-of-my-face]

My Lord, I have a story for you to ponder, and it is one of my best.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom that was not enormously large, nor very small, there lived a sad and lonely princess.

She was not sad because she was lonely, as one might believe, but rather she was lonely because she was sad. All of her ladies in waiting would chitter and pace at her bedside, urging her to rise, to dress in some of her many fancy adornments, and leave her tower to go and dance in the great hall with them, but the princess always declined.

Soon, they stopped asking.

For years, people lost their will to bother her. She was alone in her tower, and as the months passed her loneliness grew until she could do nothing else but stare out of her decorated window and sigh wistfully out it at the common people below.

But dear lord, this is not a sad tale, I promise it.

For in this kingdom there lived a strange and magical creature. Members of this kingdom might not know what it was called, or where he was from, but the magical creature had a name, and his name was Ricodimous.

Ricodimous had a face like a mouse, eyes cunning and dark, and a shell by which he rolled himself into, in case the world got too much, too loud.

One day, Ricodimous was puttering through the market when he heard the most wistful sigh he had ever heard in his entire life. He looked about, questioning, but saw nothing until he rolled back onto his shell and gazed up, up high until he could see a window over the market square, where the saddest and loneliest princess of all sat on her window seat.

"Hello Princess!" He called. And even though the distance between them was great, Ricodimous was a magical creature, and the Princess heard him perfectly.

She gazed down at the wondrous little creature Ricodimous was, and sighed again.

"Hello Ser," she greeted politely. "You should roll along, for I am not of the finest stock for company."

Ricodimous tilted his head.

"You look to me to be the finest stock of anything," he replied. "Why do you believe not?"

The princess simply shrugged.

Ricodimous pondered for a moment. As a magical creature, his guesses on the ailment of princesses were often correct.

"Your heart is aching," he declared. "But you are too shy to say it."

The princess raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You assume much, Ser."

"I assume enough. Pray, would you come down from your tower, and we shall play a game."

The princess could not deny that she had longed to play a game for a time, even if it was with a mouse like creature.

For the first time in years, the Princess dressed herself in her finest silks, and exited her tower with a flourish. Dressed in deep blues and greens, she at last came down to the marketplace and met Ricodimous by the gardens entrance.

The game they played my lord, is one similar to Croquet. I will admit my lord, that this is a game I myself have never played, so you must use your imagination with my storytelling, and simply believe that while you know the rules, so do I.

And so the Princess and Ricodimous played their game, over the course of which the Princess found herself more and more joyous. She indulged in a full commitment of the sport, soiling her finest clothes all so she could kneel in the mud and get a better angle.

Even more scandalously, the Princess was referred to by her royal title less and less, which tends to happen when one is losing a game so terribly he must roll up into his shell and rock back and forth from frustration. So over the day the Princess was called more and more by her name, Ashley, and Ricodimous was simply called Ric.

But the sun was soon to set, and all stories, no matter how brief must end.

At the end of their game there was only one true winner, and Ashley wiped her royal brow and shoot Rics paw, smiling in victory. The magical creature was not disappointed, for he promised to never give up, and that he would return the next day for a rematch.

Princess Ashley was surprised.

"You mean that you'll come back?" She asked, and she realized how excited she was at the prospect.

"Of course I will!" Ric replied. "I would never run around and desert you."

And with that, Ric rolled away.

[hyperdragon97]

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

agnostic-atheist spectrum but with flavors

an omnipotent creator being almost certainly doesn't exist but if it does, it's a supervillain

gods shouldn't exist but we keep creating them to use as weapons. and no one knows how to defuse one

gods don't exist which is a relief bc otherwise we'd be forced to hunt them down for execution

creator god exists and we owe it nothing (DEEPLY unqualified)

god/s abandoned us and it hurt at the time but in hindsight we escaped a highly toxic relationship

the universe is a pet goldfish kept in an irresponsibly small bowl by a toddler deity whose parents are considering moving up to a hamster

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

not just atheist but anti-theist. a divine being descends to earth and im in the background booing

[medievaljournalist]

so you know that cursed sword that slowly drives whoever wields it mad & causes mysterious illnesses? you guessed it: scabbard was absolutely loaded with black mold

[sowecoulddance]

its christmas eve and look whos on tumblr

all of us

[sharper-and-bigger]

Jesus also spent Christmas in a barn full of animals

[mckitterick]

Sometimes victory belongs to mercy and looks like failure

had to share this brilliant discussion - source: X

At the most important moment in modern fantasy, the hero fails. Not quietly. Not ambiguously. He stands at the edge of the world, feels the full weight of evil loosen its grip, and chooses it anyway.

At the edge of Mount Doom, with the fate of the world balanced on a single will, Frodo Baggins does not throw the Ring into the fire. He claims it. The moment every heroic narrative has trained us to expect as triumph becomes instead a confession of failure. Tolkien does not flinch. He lets the hero break.

And yet the world is saved.

This is not a plot twist. It is a moral thesis. The destruction of the Ring happens not because Frodo earns victory, but because mercy extended long before the ending finally comes due. The quest resolves because of a chain reaction of restraint. The decisive force is not discipline, not optimization, not grit. It is pity.

This is where Tolkien quietly dismantles the moral machinery of hustle culture decades before we had language for it. We live inside a story that teaches us effort converts cleanly into outcome. That endurance guarantees reward. That suffering is a down payment on success. Tolkien offers a colder and far more honest truth. Sometimes you do everything right and still cannot finish the job.

Scholars have long noted that Frodo’s failure is not a betrayal of his character but the completion of it. The Ring is not a fair test of willpower. As J.R.R. Tolkien wrote plainly in his letters, the will is not infinite. Power erodes agency. The closer one comes to absolute domination, the less freedom remains. Frodo is not weak at the Crack of Doom. He is human at the end of an inhuman burden.

By the time he reaches the Fire, Frodo has endured starvation, sleep deprivation, repeated physical injury, and sustained psychological terror. Modern neuroscience would describe this as cumulative trauma. Tolkien simply wrote it as reality. Expecting one last burst of perfect moral clarity from a nervous system already wrecked by suffering is not heroism. It is wishful thinking disguised as virtue.

The quest only succeeds because of Gollum. And even that rescue is not redemption in the sentimental sense. Gollum does not transform into goodness. He falls into the fire because of what he already is. The deeper truth is that Gollum is alive at all only because he was spared when mercy looked foolish. First by Bilbo. Then by Gandalf. Then most dangerously by Frodo himself.

The Ring is destroyed not because Frodo conquers it, but because Frodo once chose not to destroy someone else.

This is a devastating inversion of the moral economy most of us were raised to believe in. We are taught to look for visible proof that goodness works. Tolkien gives us an older logic. Moral victories are often retroactive. The most transformative decisions rarely announce themselves as such. They look inefficient. They look naive. They often look like failure.

In the medieval moral tradition that shaped Tolkien, mercy was not sentimental. It was strategic in a way power could never be. Mercy refused to close the future. It kept outcomes unresolved. It preserved the possibility that evil might one day undo itself. Tolkien does not sanctify Gollum. He allows evil to collapse under its own gravity because mercy refuses to force a premature ending.

This alone would be enough to unsettle the reader. But Tolkien goes further. He denies us the fantasy that salvation heals everything.

After the Ring is destroyed, Tolkien insists on the Scouring of the Shire. Home is violated. The saved world is not the same world. The victory does not restore innocence. Frodo returns permanently wounded. He cannot sleep without pain. He cannot fully enter the peace he helped secure.

The modern myth is that collapse will be redeemed by recognition. Tolkien refuses that lie.

We want the hero to stand at the end and receive the moral reward. Tolkien lets his hero sit down and admit he is finished. Frodo does not recover because recovery would falsify the cost.

This is why The Lord of the Rings remains psychologically modern beneath its ancient scaffolding. The story already understands what burnout culture would take another century to articulate. Some burdens cannot be survived without damage. Some systems demand more than one conscience can sustain. Sometimes the bravest outcome is not conquest but survival long enough to make mercy matter.

We live in an age that worships visible dominance. We measure virtue through performance. We reward leaders who claim they can bend chaos through sheer will. Tolkien issues a quiet warning instead. When power becomes the proof of goodness, goodness collapses.

Frodo fails because no one was ever meant to pass that final test.

The world is not saved by the flawless execution of the righteous. It is saved by the accumulated weight of restraint. By choices made without assurance of payoff. By mercy that looked wasted at the time. By patience that looked irrational. By hands that refused the easy kill and kept the future open instead.

The modern fantasy is not Middle-earth. The modern fantasy is that effort always guarantees justice.

Tolkien tells a harder truth. Sometimes the most important moral decisions you will ever make will feel powerless when you make them. Sometimes the victory will not belong to your endurance at all. It will belong to mercy that looked like weakness years earlier.

Frodo does not win.

Mercy does.

And it does not feel triumphant.

[eridan-ampora]

narrator who's terrible at social cues & describes every facial expression as "unreadable"

[ursulakats]

"The frown was completely unreadable. Thankfully, the loaded and raised gun offered a clue."

[garfeybaby]

[importantpics]

[stratfender]

just being myshellf! #turtle

[kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon]

German trailer for The Thing (1982).

[gobusto]

[wholeheartedsuggestions]

you’ll achieve the most you can if you go at your own pace

[tired-stressed-trying-my-best]

[donotusetheinternet-deactivated]

if youve never physically been in the presence of like, a real live wolf, and you probably wont get the chance to, heres some stuff about them you should know

a wolf’s fur is so unbelievably thick that you can get like, your whole hand into it while petting. and then you can keep going

wolves are a lot bigger than you think they are. think about how big you think a wolf is then just like double that

they dont really smell like dog but they DO smell and youre not going to be able to figure out if its a good smell or not

a wolf really wants to lick the inside of your mouth. he will not stop trying to lick the inside of your mouth at any cost, and generally speaking you need to press your lips together kind of tightly when he approaches your face so that he doesnt worm his damn tongue in there to give you what he thinks is an appropriate greeting

a wolf doesnt really want to look at you while you pet him but he wants you to pet him. hes embarrassed

if a grown ass wolf decides to lay down on you, you just have to deal with it and thats your life now

young wolves, much like young dogs, are overwhelmingly goofy and stupid. a teenage wolf will see your very fragile, very human shoulder and go “i can probably step on that with my full weight” and then he will do it

letting a wolf eat out of your hand is actually not remotely frightening, and youll want to do it all day

[sad-gay-potato]

I wanna know who did this research.

[donotusetheinternet-deactivated]

well, i did!

[meinenaffenhosen]

in the interest of science, have tested & can confirm

[bisexual-engineer-girl]

Language is universal

[kevytmaitohorsma]

Finnish trains have a different diet

[bisexual-engineer-girl]

Little-known fact: although most people believe trains to be herbivores, they are actually opportunistic omnivores and will consume meat should it be made readily available.

[kirkendauhl-v2]

Peer reviewed

[sisterreisaid]

I see Finland has solved the trolley problem

[cringecorp]

they say you can't pour from an empty cup but i've been doing it my whole life and aside from all of these mysterious ailments it's working out great for me

[important-animal-images]

[thenookienostradamus]

oh siddhartha gautama, called Buddha, we're really in it now

[eraserheadadult]

no matter how much time passes "we poppin the biggest bottles when makorra drops tomorrow" is still the number one funniest thing that's ever been posted on tumblr dot com

[pepto-dismall]

CONGRATS NANOTYRANNUS FOR FINALLY BECOMING A REAL SPECIES!!! :DDD

[taibhsearachd]

One of the specimens that help confirm this is named Bloody Mary! She was found like this (reconstruction, because the fossils had to be taken apart when removed from where they were found):

Here's her delicate little skull (about 2 feet long):

And here is a cast of the SKIN ON HER FOOT!!!!