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tannertan36
Xuebing Du

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Love Begins
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
noise dept.
hello vonnie

PR's Tumblrdome
One Nice Bug Per Day
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor

roma★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Cosimo Galluzzi
wallacepolsom
we're not kids anymore.
Not today Justin

Origami Around
🪼
seen from Venezuela

seen from Venezuela

seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil

seen from Singapore
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from India
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
@nyxxwolfe13
instagram.
REBLOG IF NAZIS OFFEND YOU MORE THAN NIPPLES.
magical girl shows really did snap when they assigned personality traits based off the members colors
pink - commander and the leader. probably really nice and sweet
blue - probably very close to pink, is either 100 iq smarty pants but shy or very tough and cool
yellow/orange - very happy and positive. can vary from being newbie of the group to be older and mature, probably known as the beautiful one
purple - mysterious, usually starts off as a rival or joins the group later, but is definitely known to the members as another MG. Probably has a softer side they don’t show
Don’t forget green - more mature and very reliable
Red - Mad
okay but this implies the existence of a lost pink teletubby. a fallen leader too painful to talk about anymore
tubby custard.
why are there so many posts about asexuals being immune to sirens. people. sirens don’t lure you in with sex (necessarily). they sing about whatever it is that you want most. they could sing about mothman or cinnamon toast crunch and guess what then your asexual pirate is fucking dead
this is the only kind of ace discourse i ever want to see on my dash. the only kind. ever again. good job
Do you think the sirens would be grateful that they finally get some variety?
“Oh my god we can finally just sing about pasta thank the fucking gods.”
I’m not asexual but I’m fairly certain sirens would do a far better job luring me into the depths with a song about pasta rather than sex…
I mean.
“WHAT THE FUCK STAY AWAY FROM THE ROCKS.”
“FUCKER THEY SAID THEY HAVE FETTUCCINE CARBONARA AND HOT GARLIC BREAD OVER THERE HANG ON BITCH.”
This is true; Odysseus heard them promising him knowledge of the future. So the next time you see artwork like this:
Remember those sultry naked chicks are saying “We’ll tell you the winning lotto numbers.”
Them: “We have unlimited wifi at incredible speeds~” Me: *diving headfirst into the water*
This post is a blessing
Congratulations! Odysseus! You’ve been selected as a winner for the free $1000 Amazon Gift Card, Apple iPhone X 256G or Samsung Galaxy S8! Claim your prize now!
Oh my god sirens were literally scam websites
you could say…phishing scam…
And that pun wins the gold @honeypunks
@sternenhimmel-mond
Was anyone going to tell me that Jesse McCartney who voices Dick Grayson in Young Justice is the same fuckign Jesse McCartney whose song Beautiful Soul was the slow dance song in literally every single rom com circa early 2000s, or was I just supposed to connect the dots myself
I hate that you made me Google this Isghdhdhsjsjsjk??!?!!!!
He signed up to play Roxas cuz he loved the big feet characters of Kingdom Hearts
I came out here to celebrate a teen heart-throb icon, and have left with knowledge about Quentin McCartino I never could have anticipated. I am Pandora, and typing the first Dickard Grayson post was opening the shoe box
@sapphire-and-ice
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK
omfg that is just too adorable
This kitteh having a little halloween adventure is one of my favourite posts of all time :)
Every fall like clockwork this photo set pops up and we all must reblog it
You know it’s getting close to Halloween when you see it appear :D
my heart….
Oh little baby kitty ❤️
Alright fine I’ll reblog this one…
my heart is being sent to space
This is the best comic I’ve seen in months, I won’t allow any protests
Please note, The upper classman:
More specifically the Size of the upper classman:
Even sitting down he’s huge
Bonus:
We stan the soft giant!!!
I didn’t see any title for this so i googled and come up with “Tamen De Gushi” by Jiu Tan/ Tan Jiu
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ :)
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).
If ever don’t reblogging this, I’m either dead, dying, or buried under cat.
I WANT THIS SO BAD!!!
*CRIES*
demon: YOU HAVE SUMMONED ME, MORTAL. WHAT DEAL DO YOU WISH TO STRIKE WITH THE POWERS OF HELL?
roomba: [is a roomba]
demon:
roomba:
demon:
roomba:
demon: man c’mon you gotta work with me here a little bit
Demon: *gives Roomba sentience* : now, what do you want?
Roomba: what are you doing? Get off my floor. I just vaccumed there.
@the-wayward-robot 🤣
@chromehoplite The demon is probably Sebastian.
@trrain-wreck R O O M B A
X Neil Gaiman is the real MVP
My favourite comment:
NEIL GAIMAN IS A M A Z I N G
also so is good omens im going to die bc im already halfway through it oof
guys i clicked the link and
CAN WE GET A HELL YEAH FOR THIS MAN
FUCK YEAH GO OFF
im crying
bless him
Look i dont wanna sound like a Fandom Mom or whatever but what do you think women over 25 or so are supposed to do? Do u really think theyre supposed to drop all their interests and just talk about taxes and marriage or whatever? It seems like 25+ year old fanboys do not receive this kind of “ooh cringe” reaction either. There are guys in their 40s with comic book collections and shit and people might think theyre a nerd at worst, not a freak who shouldnt be trusted
Thank you. Because, here’s the thing, I literally tried that. And this sounds really dramatic but it kind of ruined my life for a long time.
Once I got out of grad-school and started working, at exactly age 25, I figured it was time to get serious because I was “too old for this stuff” and frankly I was afraid of being judged.
I sold all my comics, I stopped reading fanfiction, I stopped playing video games. All of it. It’s not that I never, ever watched anything “geeky” or spent a weekend binge-reading a kink-meme, but when I did, it was rare and I’d feel guilty about it like it was time wasted. I’d keep it all to myself, you know? And without any kind of inspiration, I eventually stopped drawing. After all, I didn’t need it for my “serious job,” so why bother? Unfortunately, my former skill is so atrophied now it’s nearly lost, but worse than that, it’s stressful now instead of the thing I loved to do for most of my life.
What was I doing instead? Well, I’d work my miserable, toxic job, come home and worry about how far behind everyone else I was, and how weird I was compared to all my colleagues. I’d go out with people and do the things they liked doing, but I only pretended to. But I’m not great at that and pretending to be someone else ate me alive. Unsurprisingly, by 31, my anxiety and depression was not in a great place, and I fuckin’ snapped. Not just because of this stuff, of course, but it honestly contributed. I quit my job and left town.
Suddenly I was completely alone, no job, no friends, and no reason to pretend to be someone else. So, I started doing all the things I’d given up. I read all the fanfiction I wanted, I bought a Playstation and an SNES and played them for hours. I bought back every comic book I loved, watched every Marvel movie I missed, and caught up on my favorite characters. I started traveling around just going to cons for the first time (NYCC, GeekGirlCon, DragonCon, etc). In fact, at @geekgirlcon and DragonCon especially, I saw groups of women who were 60+, just fucking enjoying things, and it made me feel so much better about my future. I’m not even joking, I literally cry every time I think about it, because I never realized how scared I was about aging in a world that thinks I’m already a decade too old for the things I love. Suddenly, that wasn’t so scary.
And then I just stopped pretending that I wasn’t into this stuff. I mean all of it, even the stuff no one understand, even the stuff people openly make fun of, even smutty fanfiction.
And look, I’m not saying this cured my depression, or that everything is perfect. For one, I picked a city that’s awful for geeks and I’m trying to figure out where to move and how. For another, I lost six years of making like-minded friends, and it’s hard to find them now because we’re all so worried about being judged and online – the space that was always a refuge for me as a loner weirdo growing up – is now apparently a Children of the Corn. But I’m happier here, actually fucking liking things, than being the unobjectionable robot woman I’m apparently supposed to be.
I don’t expect anyone to actually be interested in this, or have gotten this far, but because I’m having feelings about turning 36 on Monday, I just want to tell anyone who is about to turn 25 that you should just tell people to go fuck themselves. It’s your life. You’re going to offend people no matter what you do, at least choose the direction that makes you happiest, because those people certainly aren’t going to pay for your fucking therapist bills, are they? 🦖
This is gonna sound weird to you guys, but when I first started writing fanfic and sending stories to fanzines to be published back in 1991, in my first fandom all of the fans and writers and editors and readers I met were shocked that I was 17 because they were all in their 30s, 40s, and 50s. I was the outlier. I was an aberration.
Wanna know when young people started discovering fandom en masse? In the mid 1990s, when AOL got their internet gateway.
All the folks who ran fannish mailing lists and conventions and published ‘zines and posted fanfic online were over 18, because email and IRC and Usenet and FTP sites and listservs were primarily used by adults because they were almost exclusively college students, government employees, and academics. And the users of gated communities like BBS, GEnie, Compuserv, and AOL all skewed older. Only Prodigy was actually aimed at kids, because prior to the mid-to-late 1990s, children weren’t getting online until they went to university.
And what kids found was the fandom that adults had built online, after being a part of it offline for decades.
Even when FFN was launched, the people who initially posted there were the same people who had been posting fanfic to the internet for a decade: THE GROWN-UPS.
So the idea that we’re meant to put away childish things is hilarious, cos for most of our lives, fandom was not a part of our childhoods. It was a part of our everyday adult lives.
Look, anyone who tells me I should drop fandom because I’m over 25 is going to get laughed out of the room, because you know what age I was when I first discovered organised fandom existed?
I was 26.
I started writing fanfic (or at least, I started writing stories that I labelled as fanfic, rather than just “stories”) at about age 30. I’m in my late forties now, and I have no interest in dropping fandom. I especially have no interest in dropping fandom because some brat who wasn’t even born when I started putting my fanfic online wants to try and sell me their internalised misogyny.
I was twenty-three when I found fandom; in all the important ways, it decided the course of my life.
I didn’t even know I liked tech; for my first fic, I needed a webpage, it was ugly, so I opened it to look at the code, saw my first html, and fell in love. Now I’m an analyst who tests programs for statewide and even national use.
I didn’t know I liked people; I thought something was wrong with me, that I seemed to always say the wrong thing, that I seemed to think wrong. Instead, it just turns out how I think is just fine; there are so many people like me and I still meet them to this day.
I didn’t know I could make and maintain friendships, short or long term; as it turns out, not a huge problem. I make and maintain friendships of almost two decades and still made new friends as of this year.
When my son came out to me as gay, I was ready for the question he wouldn’t ask that I had to answer right then; I love you. Of course it’s okay. And why the fuck are you awake and messaging me at three in the goddamn morning? YOU HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW. Without all the friends who told me what they needed that day for themselves, I’m not sure I would have known that was something he needed to hear. Without my friends, I wouldn’t have known to even expect–much less how to answer–a thousand questions (at least) he had, and where to have him look for more.
(Also didn’t hurt fandom was the one place I could be sure was all the happy ending gay love stories any gay child would need to read and knew exactly where to send him. Fuck knows the pro version still isn’t exactly thick on the ground though it’s getting better.)
When I first started, I was mentored by an older woman in her forties-fifties, and on her webpage she had a log of all this shit she’d done just in the last year; traveled to hang out with fan friends, all the fic she wrote that year, all these people she met, this wonderful life. She posted to all these sites, and she posted to mailing lists her opinion and argued without fear or self-consciousness.
All I could think is I want to be her.
At twenty-three, I couldn’t imagine it would be possible for me. I’m forty three, and as it turns out, I underestimated myself; it’s even better.
Something you activist kiddies should keep in mind with all the “lol a thirty-year-old in fandom doesn’t she have dishes to do” nonsense is that it’s not only generally misogynist (not sure why you struggle with that one, it’s 101-level, but okay), but it is specifically designed to thwart women’s power by separating you from potential networks.
You think men just somehow magically get powerful as they pass into adulthood? No. They are mentored by, they get given chances to move up from, they learn from older men in their social networks, including in predominantly male “fannish” space. Power, knowledge, opportunities move through those networks–and don’t kid yourself, they are primarily masculine networks. By narrowing your networks to women within one or two years of your age, the “lol thirty-year-olds” rhetoric cuts you off from resources you might use to get stronger. That’s a feature, not a bug.
Just the other day, I was in a room full of older fans that included a Nebula-winning author, an agent for a (different) Hugo-winning author, two tenured professors in radically different fields, and a member of the Foreign Service. You’ll make your own friends in fandom (I did; one of my closest is 15 years older than me, and, my, did I learn from her), but these are the kind of resources available to you there. Misogyny wants you to despise and avoid older women because it wants you weak. Is this really something you want to play along with?
#reblogging for @harriet-spy’s excellent commentary#its NOT AN ACCIDENT#that we disown our mothers and foremothers#it’s how they keep us weak#its how they destroy our networks#fandom is the best old girls network in the world
And, by the way, thinking that a woman over 30 is “too old” to have fun is a misogynistic notion in itself. Our culture already fetishizes female youth to the extreme and does a very good job to convince us that our life is basically over by the time we are 29, why would you want to contribuite to that? It isn’t just that you’re never too old for fandom, it’s that most of the time all these “old women” aren’t old at all.
I am here for the old girls’ network
The old girls’ network saved Star Trek.
The old girls’ network started the first media conventions.
The old girls’ network redefined fanfiction to be stories about characters (as opposed to stories about fans themselves, which was what Fan Fiction was prior to Devra Langsam and Spockanalia.)
The old girls’ network was fandom before FANDOM was a word.
I’m 31, and I’m too powerful for any of these kids to stop.
Literally at my 30 something grown ass woman job loving every part of this😀
me trying to act cool
TBH, collecting pretty rocks and stuff is both something which I would do and something which would impress me
The dance...oof...
so let me get this straight:
y’all bleed outta your vaginas
once a month, your panties look like a fucking murder scene
you are basically giVING BIRTH TO THE FUCKING LINING OF ONE OF YOUR INTERNAL ORGANS
and yet you just go about your daily business like
people with vaginas are fucking badass.
people with vaginas what are they called again?
They’re called people with vaginas because not everyone with a vagina is a woman.
whoop there it is
jesus fuck
Pretty sure I’ve reblogged this already, but reblogging again just to be safe
Ugh cramps thank you Mitol at 3:45 am ur a godsend
Never too big for a hug…