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@kateywumpus
my mother is playing pikmin and yelling at them in the exact tone of voice she uses for me and my siblings so we go into fight or flight every time. we thought initially that this meant she regarded the pikmin as akin to her children, but I now fear she’s always viewed us as pikmin
hi your post reads like a poem to me
I got this little dragon from a kinder egg so he holds my darner needle now
I have work to do but...
A spoon's only objective in life is to make soup go upwards, and it knows this. That's why when you put one under a running tap it blasts the water way high. The spoon thinks there's suddenly TONS of soup to deal with and it freaks out.
o broth where art thou
You know, I've been doing these little book reviews on Discord for all my friends. I should do some here, too, since I think y'all will like it. Here's one:
Book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63252971-luminescent-machinations
Short story compilations have always been hit or miss with me. It's really a dice roll as to whether or not any particular story is any good. I've read compilations where the majority are pretty lackluster with only a few gems in it to ones where everything is pretty damn good. Fortunately, this is one of the latter ones. All of the stories contained within are good, although some I really wish they had fleshed out into a full-fledged novel (which isn't necessarily a bad thing) like the one where you've got the biker and her kaiju girlfriend, and the evil rebel (who isn't really evil) and the suits of armor made of wood and wire she had inscribed her soul upon.
I'm also not really one for sci-fi all that much anymore. When I was a kid I was really into it. I owned all the Johnathan Swift novels, had an active subscription to Analog magazine, and had a library full of Jack L. Chalker books amongst other things. I don't know when or why I pivoted to urban fantasy as my main genre of choice, but I usually don't get much out of sci-fi. Unless, of course, we're talking giant mecha. Evangelion? Mobile Suit Gundam? Gurran Lagann? Yes, please! There's plenty of that here, for any giant mecha fan.
There's something intrinsically linked between transhumanism and queerness, especially when it comes to trans identities. The idea of becoming more than what your mortal flesh allows is such a trans experience that makes it easy to identify why slipping into a cockpit and becoming a bigger, stronger body appeals to us. Not all of these stories are trans stories, mind you, but since that's what I am, that's what I identify with.
All in all I'm glad that I backed this book on kickstarter. It's a really good read. Four stars.
vent art (too tired for human anatomy. it’s time to do monster design)
I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.
You know the kind of shows I mean.
The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.
So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.
Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)
(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))
Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.
I need you all to know this was in my queue, so it jump scared me when it popped up on my dash, but that I also misread "puppies" as "puppets," and now I'm choking to death on my water imagining Bruce Wayne on a guest panel with Kermit the Frog and Ms. Piggy whose puppeteer is absolutely shooting their shot through the medium of puppetry.
"Bruce Wayne, everyone. What a fantastic guy. All right, don't go anywhere, folks, we'll be right back after the commercial break when we'll be joined by the legendary Kermit the Frog and the effervescent Miss Piggy as they promote their latest movie, The Muppets Take Metropolis!"
The applause is deafening for a moment as the live band behind the podium strikes up a lively tune, ushering them into a commercial break.
"Really, thank you, Bruce," Murray Franklin says over the noise, angling his mouth away from the microphone on his desk. "You couldn't have got me to hold that fucking thing for all the money in the world."
Bruce inclines his head, a benign smile ever in place. "Oh, you know me, Murray. I'll try anything once."
"Well, that sounds promising," says a shrill, familiar. Bruce turns in time to find stagehands working rapid-time to construct a staging area behind the couch. And two humans holding two very distinct puppets aloft. Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy.
"Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here." The frog puppet extends a hand toward him, causing a ripple of laughter to go up from the audience. Bruce arches an eyebrow at the puppeteer but reaches out to take the felt-green hand being offered to him. Apparently, he's not supposed to engage with the humans. "This is my companion, Miss Pigathia Lee."
"Mr. Frog," he greets the muppet formally, feeling the first hint of a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Charmed to meet both of you. I'm a big fan of your work."
"Oh, gosh! Really?" The Frog gushes, emoting the pure joy Bruce remembers from watching television as a child. "I could say the same to you! All that good work you do for the city! It's really something."
"Thank you." Don't cry, Bruce thinks suddenly. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
Christ, it's like Mister Rogers telling you you did a good job.
"All right, save it for the camera," Murray interjects good-naturedly, pressing a finger to his ear and listening to whatever the producer is saying on the other end.
"Mr. Wayne?" Bruce turns to find his handler waiting for him, a makeup artist behind him. "Can we ask you to move over for this next part?"
"Of course." Bruce shuffles over. As he leans back, arm stretched out across the back of the couch he realizes what they're doing. They're using his bulk to block the sight of the puppeteers from the angle of the fourth camera. Clever.
He sits placidly as the makeup artist dusts powder over his face, listening to the instructions about how to talk to the muppets. Don't look at the puppeteers, look at the puppets. Treat them like real people. Try to keep it pg-13. Just act natural.
Natural, he thinks, his eyes skirting up to the stage beams and the shadows hovering above them. There's nothing natural about being Bruce Wayne.
"And we're live in five, four, three, two, one..."
The music swells to rising applause, and his smile slips back in place, as firm and solid as his armor. He zones out as Murray goes through the introductions. He's learned that no one minds if Bruce Wayne looks a little checked out at times. Christ, he's tired. He's half tempted not to go on patrol tonight. There's a dull ache building behind his eyes, and his ribs still hurt from getting hit with a crowbar. He hopes Dick is all right. Last night's patrol had been hard on both of them, hard enough that Dick had to miss school and spend the day in bed. Though he'd gotten up before Bruce left, adamant that he wanted to watch him make a fool of himself on television. He hopes no one else is watching. He hopes there's a mild disaster happening somewhere, and he won't have to listen to Clark ribbing him about how good he is with children and animals. Again. It's like being made fun of by a slice of apple pie.
Slowly, he becomes aware of the presence beside him. Bruce looks down to find Miss Piggy staring up at him, snout turned upward, head tilted in a manner that heavily suggests flirtation. Oh God
"Not that you have anything to worry about, Mister Wayne," the high, piping voice of Kermit the Frog informs him. "Gotham's far too damp for us Muppets to want to take over Wayne Tech, too."
Bruce smiles. He's vaguely aware of the plot of The Muppets Take Metropolis. Something about taking over LexCorp. He's surprised Luthor green-lit it. The other billionaire is normally so precious about being taken seriously.
"Oh, I don't know about that, there are lots of nice swamps around here," he says, gaze still on the amorous pig puppet inching closer to him. "Mud baths, too."
"Really?" Miss Piggy drawls, flicking her blonde wig over her shoulder, much to the amusement of the audience. "And are any of these mud baths on Wayne ground?"
He can't help but smile properly at that, mouth crooking to the side. He supposes he should have seen this coming. "Oh, yes," he says, inflecting the famous Bruce Wayne charm into his voice. "More than you can shake a stick at."
When the puppet's hand comes to rest its hand on his arm, his laughter is genuine. This might be the surrealist fucking thing that's happened to him in a while. And that's saying something because he got dosed with fear toxin last week.
"Now, Brucie," Miss Piggy drawls, "Don't tempt a girl with a good time."
Some absurd instinct makes him angle his body toward the muppet, smiling down at it like a real person. "Oh, Piggy Lee, you should know I never tempt. I can call you, Piggy Lee, can't I?"
"Honey, you can call me a cab because I'm ready! Let's skedaddle!"
"Well, how about that!" Murray exclaims, drawing the attention back to him as the audience loses it. "Kermit, he's trying to steal your girl!"
The Frog turns to look at him, to Miss Piggy, then back to Bruce. "Y'know something, Murray, I don't mind. Say, Bruce, are, uh, are any of those swamps nearby?"
Oh, he's never going to live this one down.
***
"So what's it like?" Clark asks, tone deceptively neutral.
"What's what like?" Batman asks, tone sliding like gravel over sheet metal.
"Meeting the Muppets?"
He thinks about it. "Surprisingly hard to look at the humans."
Clark nods sagely. "I've heard that."
The giant man is hungry
Somebody for the love of God give this man some fries!
Astarion is so pathetic and yet when he calls me a generous seeetheart I’m giggling twirling my hair kicking my feet
After 27 years at the library, she still believes that it’s important to offer books from all perspectives, including those of LGBTQ+ people
minotaur costumes from the lion, the witch and the wardrobe
I had an unsavory thought that I won’t share
I’ll share mine. I want him to fuck me so deep you can see his cock pushing out of my stomach
I wish c.s.lewis could see that comment
[ID: a greyscale digital drawing of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood from The Magnus Archives, depicted in the final moments of MAG 200. Jon, unraveling into magnetic tape, floats in mid-air while Martin, standing on the ground, begins to drive a knife into Jon’s chest, cutting the tape. Blood rises from the wound, floating upward, the only color in the drawing. Jon gently touches Martin’s face and supports the arm holding the knife, while Martin sobs through gritted teeth and holds onto Jon’s wrist. The dark backdrop is lit by a beam of light behind Jon, which highlights the negative space between the ribbons of tape that compose Jon’s body. End ID]
been picking away at this for a while……. it was really difficult to figure out how to compose all the values but i think i found an arrangement i like!! so im kinda proud of myself. a positive emotion to offset the Pain of thinking abt mag200 while drawing 😭😭
They are studying us in petri dishes
Brother, they’re in the dish with us now
I truly am obsessed with how Knives Out was like. Hello Daniel Craig, man who has spent the past two decades of his career being alternately beaten up and objectified playing an action hero with no personality. Would you like to please put on a shirt and an incomprehensible vaguely Texan accent and flex your character acting dark comedy muscles as well as your pecs for a while. And he's like BOY WOULD I and they made a work of art. Also love that they put Chris Evans in sweaters. Get your beefcakes then dress them nice make them soft and give them some bonkers character work to do it's what cinema needs more of
I love that several people have responded to this with "op I forgive you cause you're Scottish but that's not a Texan accent" which is fair thank you I appreciate it but no two people have agreed on what accent it is which is also Absolutely fair and hilarious as a reaction to this film
Cannot stress enough that I do not know what the fuck a foghorn leghorn is but literally a hundred people have said it to me so far so I'm assuming it's important to, like, Americans
The idea that Foghorn Leghorn,
The Rhode Island rooster from Looney Toons, is one of the Elder Gods of America, is honestly fascinating from a theological and folkloric viewpoint
Pardon me, but he is a LEGHORN, not a RIR. It’s in his NAME. Leghorns are an Italian breed. And yes, he is an elder god.
According to Foghorn's Tvtropes page:
Presumably, it's less that Foghorn Leghorn is a Rhode Island Rooster and more that he's a Rooster who lives in Rhode Island, possibly a Central Virginian Leghorn Rooster living in Rhode Island, though that implies a complicated and interesting life story that took him from Central Virginia all the way to Rhode Island
I would not rely on TV Tropes as an unbiased source. Wikipedia simple says his species is officially “rooster” and mentions a Leghorn being a breed of chicken. TV Tropes probably thinks the Cornflakes chicken is a RIR too.
I am potentially willing to concede he is a “barnyard mix” (cross between breeds) and his father, Harold Leghorn, was a leghorn and his unnamed mother was a RIR or other dark variety.
I love this site.
Sometimes it’s 1:30 am and you own chickens and you’re drinking whiskey in the bath tub and accuracy about iconic fictional chickens is the hill to die on, ok, and that’s why I love Tumblr.
Where this post started
Where it ended up
around when I first started dating my boyfriend i bought myself this novelty blanket that looks like a photorealistic tortilla because I am SUCH A SUCKER for novelty shit. when he saw it in person for the first time his eyes lit up, which should have been a warning sign for the indignities to come.
so he’s a first responder and his day shifts start obnoxiously early as far as I, a pampered corporate asshole, am concerned. almost invariably when he’s at my place there will be an alarm at an hour that is downright unconscionable that will make him wake up and roll out of bed to get ready and will simultaneously make me burrow under the pillows grumbling about how surely nobody actually NEEDS their lives saved this early in the morning, after which I will promptly attempt to go back to sleep
he is a clever man and he knows this is when i am most vulnerable to attack.
every single time we do this dance, he quietly dresses, packs up, goes about getting ready to leave, and then when i have juuuust fallen back asleep, he returns with the tortilla blanket. He finds it no matter where I have hidden it.
He then creeps silently up to my side of the bed and uses his superior speed, strength, and reflexes to wrap me up in it incredibly tightly while i am still dazed and sputtering, so that i cannot move my legs or arms and am reduced to humiliating halfhearted magikarp flops that do not deter him from at least attempting to kiss my forehead.
then he goes to my bedroom door, opens it, then pauses, turns around, looks at me, the soft human filling of the facsimile of an enormous burrito he has just constructed, and says in his best romantic lead voice “I’ll see you soon, beans.”
you cannot understand how devastating it is to my ego that i am beans.
breakdown of why moon's haunted is the tweet of all time
- the implication that the nasa spaceship got back to earth, from the moon, without nasa knowing
- nasa employee is super chill about it
- theres just a gun lying around
- the astronaut is taking a gun and nothing else to fight ghosts
- moon's haunted
ID: Twitter post by dustin Couch @/dustinkcouch reading
nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early
astronaut: moon’s haunted
nasa employee: what?
astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s haunted /End ID
not to be problematic but i literally do not give a shit about age gaps when dating vampires. they thirst for your blood. "but it's predatory!!!!" yeah. it is. "they're preying on you!!!" they're vampires. they do that. "it's a power imbalance!!!!!!" what part of vampires are you not getting
they eat people and can turn into bats and crawl around on walls, lizard fashion, and can hypnotize you with your eyes. a) the age gap is not the creepy part and b) the creep factor is kinda the appeal
they don’t age. that’s part of the horror of it actually. would you accept eternal life, if you can never progress? can never grow or change? you’ll live forever, eternal youth, but frozen exactly as you are now. you will never become the person you’re meant to be. you are trapped in the mind of a 17-year-old forever. also ‘theoretically old if you disregard the fact that he’s a vampire’ doesn’t even make the top 20 worst things about edward cullen list. girl he’s mormon. prioritize
I was nodding along with this the whole time until that last sentence, which hit me like a folding chair
