fandom trash

hey. dont cry. 566 california condors, okay? 369 free flying.[1] it's gonna be okay.

for the record, in 1987 there were 27. [2] things can get better.

HEY. DONT CRY. 607 CALIFORNIA CONDORS, OKAY? 392 FREE FLYING. [3]

miraculousglitter

Can we see cool/cute pics of some of them?

#knights of guinevere #what the fuck lmao #voltron #Frankie #dana terrace

IMMMM so glad you asked! all of the above are from the internet, and the below are my own!

aimseytv

sometimes i wish i could wipe my memories so i could listen to this album again for the first time

inkskinned

it's just that i'm always worried i'm doing the wrong thing even when there's not a wrong thing to be doing. in the grocery aisle i'm doing the wrong thing. stopping for a moment to retie my shoelaces i am doing the wrong thing.

it is the first time i've visited this friend at her house; i'm doing the wrong thing already, what if i have the wrong address, what if she has special rules i don't know about, what if my presence here was more of a politeness and not a true request. it is the first time i've been to this restaurant, and surely yes i've been to many of these but what if i'm doing the wrong thing in this one. and even if i've been to this gym a million times what if this time the rules have changed somehow (or i've been doing it wrong all along and it was pure luck that nobody noticed) and what if this time i'm doing it very wrong.

they're taking orders for lunch at work, what if i order the wrong thing somehow, or what if - what if i am not even supposed to order anything - is this a test? my friends ask if i want to see a movie but what if i suggest a movie that they won't like and that's certainly doing the wrong thing. yes im certifiably happy and she's amazing and i love being a lesbian but if i bring her on a date where everything isn't blisteringly perfect (the weather is a bit chilly, finding parking was harder than i thought, the event started 3 minutes late) isn't that doing the wrong thing? i know i can't control everything obviously but i should have planned better; this was my fault. and of course i know i'm only human but - a lack of omnipotent foresight really is doing the wrong thing now.

am i doing the wrong thing writing about this? i'm doing the wrong thing, aren't i, i'm so sorry, i always seem to be doing that somehow.

narcissistcookbook

someone should invent a waking up that feels good

narcissistcookbook

you know what. i made this bed and now i have to lie in it.

narcissistcookbook

this is the worst thing that has ever happened

infiniteoreos

undiagnosed autistic people will be like "I don't get upset when my routine changes though!!" and it's because they've built a set of if-then loops in their head to pick from one of 6 different strict routines and they do get incredibly upset when they're unable to keep to any of the 6 scripts. I'm john normal

inkskinned

i both hope i never see you again and also wish you could fucking see me now; you miserable fuck. i both picture a clarifying moment of personal vengeance but more often i sit back in my peace, just grateful that you no longer know any part of me. and yes, i know you're probably somewhere pantomiming happiness, pretending like nothing happened, like you don't even remember me - and yes, that shit makes me furious when i think about it. but i'm in therapy. i'm healing. less and less i feel the wound bleed. more and more often i am so content it spills out of me. i got my laughter back, i got back my dancing. i love myself more than you ever did.

so the adage of revenge is maybe validated. i have my incredible, vibrant reward: without you, i've made a life well-lived.

thatsbelievable

TRUTH. What you need is imagination, and you don’t need to go anywhere to use it.

caitymschmidt

Yeah, sure, seeing new things is helpful as a fantasy writer. But. Don’t make the mistake of assuming that exposure to new things is the same as traveling. You know what else exposes you to new things? The internet. Documentaries. Books. Freaking Youtube. So when you’re bored of cats and cooking tutorials, go on an adventure!

You wanna write create some fantasy creatures but don’t know where to start? Go check out some videos The Weird Creatures Earth has Had.

Want some inspiration for your Super Evil Villain’s Villanous Deeds?

Or maybe you want some weird locations to kick start your Fantasy World Terraforming?

Or maybe you need knowledge of bunches of historical places and cities and cultures?

But maybe you’re basing fantasy on the modern world?

Okay but lets say you want to start from the same inspiration as GRRM? (and part two!)

That’s just the stuff I could quickly grab. Things I’m subscribed to, that I know offhand. There is So. Much. Stuff. Online.

The best thing about the internet is that it means its not just the fortunate sons that get to learn, and explore and imagine and write. We get to see stories from all over the place, from all sorts of people, who bring All Kinds of New Ideas.

ultimatebottom69

I like you.

knights of Guinevere speedrunning a voltron-tier fanbase after ONE SINGULAR EPISODE is fucking hilarious

are yall okay over there.

You know the concept of cosmic background radiation?

Energy, that thrums through the outer reaches of the universe. It doesn’t affect anything, it doesn’t *do* anything, it’s just this ever present force. The eternal presence of possibility.

That’s how I feel about ICE. I’m white, yeah. My mother’s family comes from Norway, they’ve been here a hundred years. My grandfather probably fought in World War 2.

My great grandfather was in the Red Army.

My great grandfather was nearly gassed.

My father is Armenian. He came to this country legally, a man of God trying to study the texts of his faith as best he could. His story is long and painful and not mine to tell and not the point I am trying to make.

But he’s been told to go back to his country many times. He married my mother in 2003, two years after people who looked and sounded like him performed the worst terror attack in American history.

I have watched store employees change their entire demeanor when they switch from talking to me, a white, unaccented, American Man TM, to him. They become condescending, snide, arrogant. Because he has an accent.

Because he is othered.

And by extension, I am othered. The one drop rule persists, two hundred years later.

It is not a dramatic othering, it is not something that invades my day to day, like it would for a Mexican man of my age in Texas, labeled MS13 the moment he got off the plane he had a visa to sit on, marked for death by a cocaine-brained nihilistic fascist in Washington DC.

But it is there.

The fear. The ever-present nightmare. The worry that one day I will wake up to a knock at the door, because masked thugs hiding their beady evil eyes behind mirrored sunglasses “just want to ask my dad some questions.”

I practice my archery.

Nobody’s prepared for an arrow to the throat in 2025, even the Crusader Kings-addicted incels whose greatest achievement in life has ended up being becoming a boot of the state.

But I can’t carry a bow around with me everywhere. I can’t carry it to the traffic stop, where I side-eye the cop sitting in the parking lot across the street and slow my engine far below maximum, because I don’t trust him to trust me.

I can’t carry it through TSA, where a black man in Scotland looks at me with disgust I am only used to from the eyes of people whose generational wealth puts them so far above either of us I am confused as to why he finds me concerning, and then I remember my name. That name that nobody can say right on the first try.

I’ve made a joke out of it, a running shit test with my friends. But every time I speak it out loud to pick up an order at a restaurant or speak up for a doctor’s appointment or accidentally drop it on a phone call for work, I wince a little.

Because of the possibility. The possibility that someone has something to say about it.

It’s not likely.

But it’s this ever present force. This possibility, that one day soon I will also be unwelcome.

I see a woman write a poem about “what if it were your kids.” I fall asleep at night worrying that soon it will be my sister.

Every police officer, every security checkpoint, every unmarked van, every white man with too many muscles and not enough kindness in his eyes, has a faint glow to it now, and I find my steps speeding up.

Cosmic background radiation.

They’re not here yet. I live in suburbia. My neighbors may be willingly oblivious, but they won’t turn us in when the time comes, right?

They didn’t in Paris, either, when it began.

If I vanish one day, well, I’m named after my great-grandfather.

#if they come for my dad my dog will be eating good that night.#ice #American politics #I don’t know what this is dude #poetry #?#ventpost #immigration #racism

Imagine a local queer event that's well organized with like a clearly communicated schedule that's announced ahead of time and doesn't change

All of these things need to put a deeply autistic type A personality butch lesbian in charge of running it. Type of dyke who built her own house And it's up to code. She's the only one who can wrangle these faggots into showing up at the location according to the schedule they posted

We need a dyke who looks like the godfather syncing up the organizers' watches n shit. You know? These people need to LOCK IN

#critical role #campaign iv #matthew mercer #brennan lee mulligan #dan panosian #dnd

I could become that lesbian but I'm still in my larval stage. You know. I'm 21 I'm not the godfather dyke yet. I'm dykael corleone

matthew mercer getting one-shot by the pronunciation of dan panosian's name is so funny. but also sad. can americans learn to pronounce armenian names properly dammit. it's pahnossyan, not pantosienn. how do you even get there from there.

campaign's real fun so far tho.

scribefindegil

There's nothing worse than when the concept for a piece of media feels like it was tailor-made for you in a lab but then you actually watch/read it and it turns out to be dreadful. The betrayal. The utterly dashed hopes. The annoyance that now you can't even write a good version of the concept because then everyone will go "Oh just like X!" and you will have to Bite them.

#kpop demon hunters #i fear that the movie is generic as hell #and the character arcs are boring #but the fight scenes slap so hard #so why can i not enjoy

koobiie

can't stop thinking about this accessorizing icon

approaching-the-scrungularity-d

I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

herpsandbirds

First known wild ‘grue jay’ hybrid spotted in Texas

Green and blue jays are crossing paths as temperatures rise.

If you happen to find yourself in south Texas and spot a strikingly colored bird, be sure to snap a photo.

According to biologists at the University of Texas at Austin, it may be a mix between a green jay (Cyanocorax yncas) and a blue jay (Cyanocitta cristata).

Unofficially dubbed a “grue jay,” the bird likely marks one of the first confirmed examples of a vertebrate animal that hybridized partially due to climate change.

This tale of two jays began around 7 million years ago, when both species split off from their ancestors on their own evolutionary paths.

Green jays are tropical birds native to Central America whose range previously extended about as far as the United States-Mexico border.

By comparison, their blue jay cousins are known to generally prefer the more temperate environments of the eastern US, and rarely fly further west than Houston, Texas...

Read more: https://www.popsci.com/environment/blue-jay-green-jay-hybrid/

day 1 at the communal puzzle club: i see a puzzle with a sign next to it that says "please help with our communal puzzle" and i say to myself "don't mind if I do" and did the whole thing

day 2 at the communal puzzle club: i get gently reprimanded for not sharing the puzzle experience with the others. in my defense I thought they needed all the help they could get

day 3 at the communal puzzle club: we start a new puzzle and i put one of the pieces in my pocket and save it for later so i can be the one who puts in the last piece

day 4 at the communal puzzle club: the puzzle is almost complete so i reach into my pocket and realize i left the last piece in my other pants which are currently in the washing machine. i feign ignorance

day 5 at the communal puzzle club: the others are suspicious but they have no proof. they check my pockets before i leave but little do they know that this time i ate the pieces

day 6 at the communal puzzle club: i put an entire bottle of miralax in my coffee to get the pieces out of my digestive system but they are too far dissolved to be usable. my stomach is in so much pain and i can't stop shitting but i rinse off what's left of the pieces and make it to puzzle club anyway, only to find out they don't meet on mondays. i am inconsolable.

day 7 at the communal puzzle club: i realized those pieces are incriminating evidence so i slipped them in someone else's pocket. i should be good as long as they don't find residual traces of my dna

day 8 at the communal puzzle club: there is an odd feeling in my gut. i feel as if something has been awoken in me

day 9 at the communal puzzle club: i am in such deep focus that the others are starting to fear me. either that or they are cowering away from the communal puzzle out of sheer respect for my skills

day 10 at the communal puzzle club: i'm getting better and better, i can now do several puzzles in one day. the others are discussing what to do about me in hushed tones. little do they know my laser focus allows me to hear everything they say. they aren't a threat.

day 11 at the communal puzzle club: the club manager unlocked the door but already i am inside. ive been here all night doing puzzles in the dark. they threaten to ban me from the club so in response i pick a 500 piece puzzle at random and complete it in under 45 minutes, just to show them who the real authority is

day 12 at the communal puzzle club: i have been officially banned from the communal puzzle club. in a fit of rage i grab as many pieces as i can and eat them, making sure to thoroughly chew and swallow every single one. if i can't do them, no one can.

day 13 at the communal puzzle club: it's monday again. the club doesn't meet today. it's the perfect opportunity to break in and do as many puzzles as my heart desires, without any of the club's petty drama to distract me

day 14 at the communal puzzle club: i am in jail because the club manager snitched to the cops like the pathetic weakling they are. this is the worst night of my entire life there aren't any puzzles here

day 15 at the communal puzzle club: the judge let me off with a restraining order since I didn't actually steal anything. i show back up to communal puzzle club just to make a show of ripping the order to shreds. no piece of paper will dictate my life, only jigsaw-cut cardboard has that power. nothing else.

day 16 at the communal puzzle club: everyone is so quiet today when I walk in. I eat some pieces in a show of force, just to remind everyone who's in charge. I comment that they taste somewhat like strychnine, they say it's just because Ravensburger has a new method of chemically processing their pieces. sounds plausible. 30 minutes later i am convulsing violently but i beg them not to call an ambulance until i finish the puzzle i was working on. but the bastards don't listen and I'm shipped off to the hospital kicking and screaming.

day 17 at the communal puzzle club: i spent the night in the hospital. a detective comes in and says they're investigating the manager of the communal puzzle club for attempted murder and asks what i know. i tell him honestly that i ain't no snitch and spit in his face. he says they have more than enough evidence to prosecute regardless.

day 18 at the communal puzzle club: the club manager is on trial for attempted murder and i am called as a witness. i tell the judge that i ain't no snitch and spit in his face. i am held in contempt of the court

day 19 at the communal puzzle club: the defense makes a plea of justifiable self defense, citing the restraining order that isn't even 1 week old. somehow the judge buys that flimsy defense. i mean, this is the same judge who didn't even recognize me from that same case despite being the same judge. i think the poor old man has dementia so i make a motion for a mistrial. it gets shot down because the system is corrupt.

day 20 at the communal puzzle club: the judge says i should get jail time but he decided i should be in a mental facility instead. i don't know why he would think that, i have been nothing but sane my entire life. god forbid a woman have hobbies

day 1 in the psych ward: they have puzzles in here this is amazing

day 2 in the psych ward: all the puzzles are missing a few pieces. this is unacceptable. im going to go insane

day 3 in the psych ward: i have been informed that they do not use the word "insane" in here so i take back my previous statement.

day 4 in the psych ward: i need to find those missing pieces i need to find them i need to find them i have been questioning everybody all the nurses all the doctors all the patients all the miscellaneous hospital staff but nobody knows anything. this is hopeless. i will never be able to overcome this trauma. my life is over

day 5 in the psych ward: it's so boring in here. without complete puzzles there's nothing to do except watch tv but the only channel they get is the local news. i begrudgingly watch out of nothing but all-encompassing ennui. but one of the stories is about the communal puzzle club and suddenly i am overcome with nostalgia. turns out there was a series of alleged poisonings attributed to that location. strychnine was found in three people so far, one of whom was myself. but the others didn't survive. this confirms my suspicion that i am in fact the chosen one

day 6 in the psych ward: with a renewed sense of purpose i will attempt to convince the doctors of my "sanity," but i also came to the realization that they don't care about sanity, they only care about sedation. they want to supress my passion, eradicate my truth, condition me to fall in line with the rest of the "sane" people. with that knowledge, i was able to tell them everything they wanted to hear. i acted polite, pretended i was cured, i even feigned complete disinterest in puzzles! it made my stomach boil but i did it, i convinced them, and just like that, i was free.

day 28 at the communal puzzle club: i don't know why everyone was so surprised to see me again, it's only natural that i'd come to finish what i started

(i know this is supposed to be day 27 at the communal puzzle club but day 27 was a monday so nothing happened) like what am i gonna say, "day 27 i sat alone in my studio apartment eating cereal and biding my time"

day 29 at the communal puzzle club: the communal puzzle club has been disbanded, the club manager has been arrested, and the whole place is swarming with cops. i watched as they hauled off a bunch of expensive looking printers and like a billion reams of paper and loaded them onto a big police truck.

apparently, the communal puzzle club was just a front for document forgery and counterfeit cash, and i had been inadvertently sabotaging them this entire time. which is sad because i support both of those things. but it also explains why they met 12 hours a day, 6 days a week and why they had their own building despite having no profit model and also why i was the only one who seemed to actually care about the puzzles. everyone else was too busy making fake passports to care.

in hindsight, i always knew they were all a bunch of casuals. but i didn't mind because they had so many excellent puzzles. I asked one of the officers if i could at least have the puzzles but he said they were already taken and locked away in the evidence room. the thought sickens me- all those puzzles, gathering dust, never to be assembled again. or maybe the pigs just took them for themselves! so they could have all the puzzles they want while the rest of us ordinary, law-abiding citizens have nothing to do except die of boredom!

the moral of the story is that we can never have nice things because of the fucking pigs. fuck the police.

dat-physics-gal

the fuck did i just read?