a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied

I live in Australia and I acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land.  She/her/they pronouns, queer and proud. Black Lives Matter.

[rising-fandoms]

Becoming re-obsessed with fandoms/ships/character is the best feeling in the world, it feels like coming home, you’re like oh yeah this is why i loved you so much

[shinethewaythrough]

The warm comforting embrace of seeing familiar names and the thrill of clicking on a favorite story you read so long ago you’d forgotten it existed, but as soon as it’s in front of you you still remember every line.

[shinethewaythrough]

First, happy belated birthday!

Second, in order: Jon and Ryan left the band after Pretty. Odd. due to creative differences and wanting to start their own thing (The Young Veins). Spencer and Brendon stuck it out as a duo until Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die! (This Is Gospel is at least a little about Spence leaving the band to go to rehab for an opiate addiction). In the meanwhile, Brendon married a lady named Sarah (2016’s Death of a Bachelor). They’re having a baby, which is why Brendon is ending Panic! after so almost 8 years as a solo act and 18 in the band.

And that’s what you missed in Bandom! 💙

hey hon! oh my god, happy belated everything!! [hugs] And thanks :) 44's been pretty shit so far but MCR! I am pinning so much emotional hope on that concert, I can't even say.

...okay, wow. Lot to unpack there. Did Ryan and Jon leave amicably? I've seen a lot of references in fic to...what sounds like not-amicable leaving. Particularly in regards to Jon, which confuses me, cause isn't he supposed to be the one who's all calm and relaxed and the go-with-the-flow guy in a band full of ~high-strung weirdos?

Also, er, can you explain what the hell is going on with the references to tambourines?

Oh Spencer. [hugs him] He's doing okay now, though, yes? Clean, sober, happy, doing a thing he loves, friends with everyone he wants to be friends me? Or do we not know?

And oh Brendon. So many years after you left your family, not only did you find yourself a found family (even if it apparently turned out to be a bit of a wild ride) but you have made yourself another one. I'm legit tearing up a bit knowing that.

[useramor]

brendon urie at the patd meeting deciding to break up the band

[shinethewaythrough]

So this 2023 MCR tour* is making me revisit past fandoms and um. WTF HAPPENED TO PANIC?! You look away from a band for, like TWO SECONDS [cough ten years whatever] and all of a sudden there’s only one person in it and he’s shutting things down?

*did I mention I’m going to see MCR? I AM GOING TO SEE MCR. In 2023! After they got back together! Everything else is falling apart but my band is back together and that comforts me, you have no fucking idea.

[shinethewaythrough]

the more things change...

The more they stay the same.

MCR Sydney 2023!!! \o/ I will be there! and I will be the opposite of square! but I will be fucking amped and I peeked at pictures from Brisbane and it looks like the band is also amped as fuck and wow. I can’t fucking wait.

[funny-tik-toks]

[beatcroc]

[assoc-of-free-people]

That’s the face of a man who has been working with that dog for over a year to keep it from jumping on people.

And that’s the face of a dog saying to the man I’m not touching you.

[shinethewaythrough]

What the actual fuck is he even feeding that greyhound, Red Bull? I’ve only seen a greyhound jump up once in my entire life, and this one is bouncing like Dick Grayson on a trampoline.

It’s kind of awesome, don’t get me wrong. Just amazing. Like watching a parrot ice-skate. [stares raptly at couch potato turned pogo stick]

[sithholocron-deactivated2012090]

[spockglocksrocks]

sometimes there’s videos that make me happy to exist on this planet

[cameoappearance]

i’d reblog this even if it was a still image

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I know it’s a sesame street clip but seriously, who is the target audience for this?

[cameoappearance]

Parents watching it with their kids, I guess?

[loreweaver]

literally everyone

[elfwreck]

Everyone. No, really… everyone.

For adults, the appeal is Sir Patrick Stewart doing a kid’s educational bit in full Shakespearean dress and style; there’s a delightful cognitive dissonance between the very serious presentation and the very simple content.

For very small children, it’s educational: this is the letter “B”; here’s how it’s shaped; here’s some words you know that start with it. Oh, and here’s a word you may not be familiar with that starts with it, so you can recognize that it’s the sound that matters, and not whatever other connection you made between the other two words.

For older kids: you’ve probably heard that “to be or not to be?” speech, or at least part of it, so you can enjoy some of the parody the adults are watching. Also, here’s how to describe how a letter is made - how to teach young siblings who don’t read yet, how to explain both the shape and the sound.

For kids with dyslexia: here’s how you differentiate a “B” from a P or D or E. You may have to go slowly and look carefully at the exact shapes that make up the whole, but there are differences and you can learn to recognize them. 

For teens or young college students: In addition to whichever parts of those are relevant to you, here’s what Shakespearean acting sounds like. Here’s how to enunciate clearly and slowly, so your audience can understand terms they may not recognize and still follow the gist of what you’re saying. If you’re reading Shakespeare in school, try sounding it out like this and see if that helps it make sense.

For new RenFaire workers: Here’s how to pronounce “zounds.” 

[frislander-deactivated20220305]

One of the most glorious things in the world is Shakespearean actors doing stuff like this.

[schmergo]

I can’t believe he said the “z” word on a kids’ program. So filthy!

[sithholocron-deactivated2012090]

[spockglocksrocks]

sometimes there’s videos that make me happy to exist on this planet

[cameoappearance]

i’d reblog this even if it was a still image

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I know it’s a sesame street clip but seriously, who is the target audience for this?

[cameoappearance]

Parents watching it with their kids, I guess?

[loreweaver]

literally everyone

[elfwreck]

Everyone. No, really… everyone.

For adults, the appeal is Sir Patrick Stewart doing a kid’s educational bit in full Shakespearean dress and style; there’s a delightful cognitive dissonance between the very serious presentation and the very simple content.

For very small children, it’s educational: this is the letter “B”; here’s how it’s shaped; here’s some words you know that start with it. Oh, and here’s a word you may not be familiar with that starts with it, so you can recognize that it’s the sound that matters, and not whatever other connection you made between the other two words.

For older kids: you’ve probably heard that “to be or not to be?” speech, or at least part of it, so you can enjoy some of the parody the adults are watching. Also, here’s how to describe how a letter is made - how to teach young siblings who don’t read yet, how to explain both the shape and the sound.

For kids with dyslexia: here’s how you differentiate a “B” from a P or D or E. You may have to go slowly and look carefully at the exact shapes that make up the whole, but there are differences and you can learn to recognize them. 

For teens or young college students: In addition to whichever parts of those are relevant to you, here’s what Shakespearean acting sounds like. Here’s how to enunciate clearly and slowly, so your audience can understand terms they may not recognize and still follow the gist of what you’re saying. If you’re reading Shakespeare in school, try sounding it out like this and see if that helps it make sense.

For new RenFaire workers: Here’s how to pronounce “zounds.” 

[frislander-deactivated20220305]

One of the most glorious things in the world is Shakespearean actors doing stuff like this.

[schmergo]

I can’t believe he said the “z” word on a kids’ program. So filthy!

[anyawen]

The teenager was asked to write a short scene or draw a short comic using a comedic trope from a list on a handout in their HS American Lit class. They chose to do the comic …

[thesaltofcarthage]

the Bard will never die.

and this comic is fucking genius.

[snapdragonling]

TOP TIER CONTENT

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

‘Brooding person who only feels safe enough to let the mask slip around Sunshine person’ is alright, but we really do not see enough ‘Sunshine person who only feels safe enough to let the mask slip around Brooding person’.

[shinethewaythrough]

This is the plot of approximately half the extant corpus of Batman/Superman fic.

[psilopterus]

This is it, the best news story (from BBC news):

[miss-edith-cushing]

Ok, so here is the croissant that started all this mess:

When asked about what kind of animal might it be, the woman said: "It's this, oh, what is it called... A lagun!"

The devil works fast, but The Krakow Animal Welfare Society works faster:

They already made a merchandise with an illustration of the lagun - they posted information about it on Facebook on Tuesday evening and by the Wednesday morning everything was already sold out.

My university professors are so delighted about this story that they are writing tons and tons of limericks, moskaliks and lepiejs (those two last genres are very popular, ridiculous and humorous types of short poems, in last decades popularized by Wisława Szymborska) and posting them on official Facebook pages of our university departments, and I am dying of laughter.

[miss-edith-cushing]

Important update on the story: owners of cafés and bakeries in Kraków realized that this wonderful idiocy that took over the country could bring them profit and help animals, and started selling croissants labeled as laguns: i.e. Massolit Café & Bakery is sending 10% of income from selling laguns to the Krakow Animal Welfare Society. Thankfully laguns are selling like hotcakes and bakeries don't plan to stop making them, so the story that started and could quickly die as just another seasonal nonsense transformed into a tool for helping small, helpless, vulnerable creatures, far less dangerous than vicious lagun.

[cricketcat9]

Wow Krakow, as a Warsaw person I did not suspect you had it in you! Szacun, lagun

”Respect, lagun”

[shinethewaythrough]

I loved this, both for every single thing about the original story, and for that little bit of intra-Polish sass. :)

[catsbeaversandducks]

By Yash Pandit

[shinethewaythrough]

I just had to put my dog to sleep, and she was all these things for me.

I miss her, and this is so hard to read but I keep reaching the bottom and going to the top and starting it over, again and again.

It hurts, but it’s also a comfort to me to have confirmation that out there, at least one small bright particle of life is giving a person some of their spark, even if it’s just for a little bit.

[shinethewaythrough]

oh, okay

One of the cool little, let’s call it “benefits” since “annoyingnesses” isn’t a word, of ADHD is the fact that very often, while my brain desperately tries to avoid doing the thing that I want it to do, it will suddenly remember random tasks that I should have done literally months ago and they will suddenly become my only focus in life.

So I end up in situations where okay, yes, I’m doing my taxes nine months late, but by god nothing will stop me from doing it now! Not even the fact that every single dish is dirty and I’m hungry and want to eat except I have no clean forks and so to eat I need to wash a fork. Clearly spending 20 minutes on my taxes (it’s Australia, we rock, that’s literally all the time it takes me because our government website for taxes is a thing of beauty, and it puts into perspective the fact that I procrastinated doing this for nine goddamn months--even when, let me just say, even when I knew a fucking $1K refund was waiting for me) takes precedent over cleaning a fork so I can eat, right? Totally logical.

Finish taxes. Forks are still dirty. And that’s the story of how my yarn got reorganized and stored in new plastic tubs and I updated my Patreon billing info.

[shinethewaythrough]

me:

I have a theory that somewhere out there is a Denizen of the Universe who has ambitions of someday writing shows for Netflix, but they aren’t very good yet so to bring their writing skills up to par they’re practicing with my life story.

My dashboard is currently blend of disparate topics that is somewhat bewildering even to me--Penguins hockey, DC comics, Marvel comics, James Bond, ADHD, Black Lives Matter, queer and asexual appreciation, Leverage, a variety of Chinese historical costume drama gifs that I confess I probably don’t appreciate as much as I should, AO3 and fandom love, people who share my experience of being a Fandom Old, jokes about computer programming, various and assorted scientific, historical, sociological, horticultural, linguistic, and culinary literary explorations, and that one guy who does texts between superheroes. I’ve had seven addresses in 5 years and I like blue.

I am delighted, and slightly astounded, that all of this has recently inspired a bunch of people to follow me. I’m not even really sure why, but as far as I can tell, it’s mainly because about two months ago I said some moderately witty things about a) sloth bears and b) ST:TOS Kirk and Spock being MFEO.

So all I can say is that I bid a warm welcome to the latest audience to the badly written dramedy that is my life, and hope you enjoy the show. :)

[adventuresoflegobucky]

[shinethewaythrough]

I was waiting for the Damian punchline, and it did not disappoint.

[bunjywunjy]

Do you know why Sun Bears look so...weird compared to other bears? Is it the eyes?

it’s not just you, sun bears just look incredibly bizarre when you stack them up against other bears!

pictured: bear

pictured: film extra from the first narnia movie in a hyperreallistic fursuit:

but as always, there are real valid reasons behind mother nature’s stupid horseshit!

the sun bear has bizarrely humanlike limbs because, living in a hot tropical environment, they have no need for the enormous fat reserves of the temperate bears! this makes their bodies a LOT thinner and really screws up their proportions. 

like really, REALLY screws up.

but sun bears do actually have longer front legs than other bears, along with larger claws, longer tongues, and cartoonishly mobile muppet faces.

and for good reason: sun bears are specialized predators of social insects!

the long legs and huge claws let the sun bear rip into beehives and termite mounds alike with wild abandon, while the long tongue and agile face assist the sun bear with getting all slurpy slurpy on the innocent hive insects and their delicious larva who were just going about their normal insect day when the sun bear rolled into town.

“aaaieeee! please, not the children!”

now insects aren’t ALL a sun bear eats, by any means, but they DO form the bulk of the protein in the sun bear’s diet, so they’ve got good reasons to look the way they do!

humans just tend to find the wonky proportions pretty off-putting, and it doesn’t help that many sun bears also have light-colored eyes which humans find incredibly freaky.

NYEGH okay that is pretty awful. 

anyway tldr sun bears look weird because the bear family tried to produce an anteater, and they didn’t do a half-bad job at it!

[shinethewaythrough]

“tldr sun bears look weird because the bear family tried to produce an anteater, and they didn’t do a half-bad job at it!”

I would like to object to this outrageous sloth bear erasure. :)

First, let me just say that I love the bear family, which is the home of both the hypercarnivore polar bear and the hyperbamboovore panda. Bears are clearly not afraid to experiment with the customizable options in the metaphorical Build A Bear workshop.

I would argue that when it comes to granting the Best Anteater Cosplay award, however, sloth bears have clearly shown more commitment to the role, given that they’ve actually lost evolved the loss of two of their front teeth to better operate a “termite vacuum” in their mouth. (Okay, maybe that’s not what biologists call it but that’s what it is.)

I’m happy to award sun bears an honorable mention for being A Very Good Bear, though, because even if they aren’t the most convincing anteater the bear family has ever produced, they’re unquestionably the bear most likely to climb trees with their spindly nightmare spider-legs to find those ants. And because the only thing creepier than leggy bears with freakishly expressive faces standing on the ground is them staring at you with their eerie pale eyes from twenty feet above your head.

[writing-prompt-s]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

[sadoeuphemist]

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?” 

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. 

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

[sameenbyhat]

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

[stu-pot]

Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to be empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

[queerhumanbeing]

[yomikoreadsbooks]

This made me cry my eyes out! It’s so beautifully written!

[galahadwilder]

This makes me cry every time I read it without fail

[captain-flint]

‘’[Our] chemistry was so great that, I think the idea came from the fans. There wasn’t a conversation during Episode 7, literally, even when Oscar does the [lip] bite, I think what you’re seeing there is the love between me and Oscar in real life which is our intense bromance. But, obviously, in a franchise, people are kinda like ‘’Oooh, actually that’s a possibility’’, then we start thinking ‘’Oooh, that could be a possibility’’, but then obviously it wasn’t going in that direction […] So, the fans that maybe wanted Finnpoe can believe that with whatever happened in the trilogy, maybe something can happen in the future.’’

[shinethewaythrough]

#john boyega is a gift