Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

dainesanddaffodils:

One of my favorite phrases my Creative Writing professor had for when you’re writing fantasy is ‘giving your story a Flux Capacitor’.

Because it’s not real, it doesn’t exist. But the way it’s thrown into Back to the Future, at no point does it throw the audience off or suspend any more disbelief than time travel would. You believe Doc when he says he created the Flux Capacitor - the thing that makes time travel possible, because the universe never questions him. 

So it essentially means like, there are going to be elements to your universe that are just not gonna make any sense, even if you set up a whole system based on it. And the only way to make it work is completely own it. You cannot second-guess your system or else the reader will too. You can give it the strangest explanation, but write it like you own it.  

Either you’ve got to follow the rules of reality and physics and shit TO THE LETTER, or you have to say “naaaaaah” and fuck off with your magic/sci-fi/whatever to have a marvelous garden party where reality isn’t invited.

profeminist:

septemberwildflowers:

here’s a thought

let’s tell young boys that they are brimming with kindness and imagination and nobility. point out their gentleness, their fierce joy and limitless capacity to love everyone and everything. tell them they are princes in a kingdom of wonders and beauty and thoughtfulness and the warmth of their own hearts. take them to museums and symphonies and forests to make tree forts in. raise them to empathize, innovate and do good things. with confidence and humility.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

While we’re on the topic -

dondaario:

so if in the soulmate au the very first words your soulmate ever says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body since the day you are born imagine having something like ‘man I cant believe dumbledore died’ tattooed on you. imagine being spoiled for a book series that doesnt even exist yet. imagine worrying about this dumbledore guy your whole childhood while not knowing who he is. imagine knowing dumbledore dies before jk rowling even thinks about it.

Okay but let’s be real, that person’s soulmate would have the words FUCK YOU in all caps somewhere on their body for that spoiler.

princvsx:

anonymously (or not) ask me any question you’d like to know about me

notthepopeiv:

dadrielle:

notbecauseofvictories:

if you are going to do historical inaccuracy, then go big. Just take it to a whole ‘nother level.

I mean like Knight’s Tale “chanting Queen at the jousting tournament ‘foxy lady’” levels of anachronism. Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters with Hansel injecting himself with insulin and Gretel wielding a multiple-shot crossbow levels of anachronism. Go for Blazing Saddles, Blackadder, Jack of All Trades, Connecticut Yankee levels of anachronism

you either have to play by the rules or throw out the book.

Go full on Xena. All of history happened at the same time. Get your legs broken by Caesar and find out Lao Tzu didn’t write that book, his wife did, and she hitting on you…all 10 years before you go meet up with Helen at Troy. Fight with Beowulf and commission Sappho within a few months of each other. Abraham and Issac? Only like 2 years before Jesus. Invent CPR and the kite during the bronze age. Watch your gal pal teach Homer how to be a better bard. Have a fucking battle of the bands in Ancient Greece. TIME IS MEANINGLESS.

Go Full On Xena

EXCELLENT.  Either admit that you’re basically not following any rules ever, that you’re going Full Xena and inventing the tracheotomy the year before the Trojan War, which is also just a few years before Caesar and at the same time as Homer, or DO YOUR GODDAMN RESEARCH.  Also, if your only ‘historically accurate’ thing is sexism/rape, I will sideeye the fuck out of you.  

airy-minotaur:

ranakanth:

skiesovergideon:

gather round tumblr it’s time for a story about why you shouldn’t solicit conversation with a stranger with a put down about their generation

i sat down about 30 minutes ago in the lobby of a very nice hotel, intending to do some writing. i have my laptop and my cellphone. as i settled, i checked some stuff on my phone, then turned to my laptop. because there aren’t many plugs, i’m sitting in a cluster of couches and instead of being by myself there’s an he’s an older gentleman across from me, polo shirt, salt and pepper hair. was very polite when i asked if he minded if i tucked myself in the corner of the couch

but apparently

apparently

he thinks computers are full of satan or something

because no sooner have i opened up goddamn word when he goes, “you kids and your electronics.”

ah, excellent, unsolicited conversation with a perfect stranger that comes with a critique of modern communication. fight me, bro, you got no idea who you’re tangling with. so naturally i push up my metaphorical sleeves (metaphorical because i’m in a goddamn resort and pavement is melting; i’m wearing a very nice goddamn dress and i’d look like a fucking soccer mom named helen if i had blonde hair) and very politely, i smash his face into the floor with “i’m sorry?” in an utterly flabbergasted tone because dude wtf and no one delivers slick put downs when they’re caught off guard

“i’m here reading my newspaper and after this my wife and i are going on a hike” (lol good luck with that dude the pavement is melting and you want to hike in the mountains) “and we’re going to interact with each other.” he gives my computer a v pointed look

naturally, i have the perfect response to this. it is pithy and eloquent and will surely put him in his place: “i… like to write, and it’s easier on a laptop?”

“it seems to me” (HERE WE GO) “that your generation” (OH GOOD) “is losing the ability to interact with other people.” (O OK) “my grandchildren never take their eyes off their cellphones anymore!” 

and here he pauses and looks at me. as if he expects me to agree. 

so i say “you were born in the 50s, right?” he says he was born in 59. “well, it seems to me that your generation is really fond of adultery, embezzlement, and corporate fraud, among other things, and i’m really enjoying paying for your retirement.”

i admit: i had this line canned after a little snarl i had with my mom the other night.

he stares at me. i stare back. 

“you also realize,” i say, quickly typing socrates kids these days quote into google, “that people have been saying kids these days since socrates said, and i quote, children now love luxury. they have bad manners. contempt for authority. they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise.” i look up at him. he’s staring at me still.

i’m shaking because man fuck confrontation but also how hilarious is this because i literally had a fight with my mom about this twelve hours ago. i literally have a cranky tweet about it. “so it seems to me that making sweeping generalizations about people based on pretty arbitrary age groupings is kind of ridiculous since i’m pretty sure you’re not cheating on your wife or stealing from your company.”

he goes beat red because now i’m embarrassed him, and i feel really fucking bad because i didn’t mean to embarrass him, but also hey dude fuck you

SO OF COURSE he says “did your parents teach you any manners?”

and there goes the last of my embarrassment because hey fuck you dude the only person who can insult my parents is fucking me. and i say, without even thinking because this is when you have the snappiest rejoinders, “well they did teach me not to open unsolicited conversation with a stranger by insulting them so.”

at this point the dude’s wife shows up and they leave, and the waiter asks me if i want anything to drink and i’m like “yes please give me all your vodka” but instead i say “ice water” because the pavement is melting and if i puke from nerves after that, i don’t want to snort alcohol out my nose

that’s it that’s my story

Epic.

belmontfucker:

If we are mutuals we are friends and i love you

everydayjewels:

sleepyclover:

people are allowed to leave you.
people are allowed to break up with you.
people are allowed to love you but not want to be with you.
people are allowed to not want to talk to you.
people are allowed to put their happiness before yours and do what makes them happy even if it does not include you.
people are allowed to move on from you.
people are allowed to fall in love with someone else.
people are allowed to not want you in their life.
people are allowed to do whatever they want to better themselves and become the version of themselves they are trying so hard to love.
don’t be bitter towards someone who is only trying to be happy.

I feel like this POV does not get enough voice.

flootzavut:

shakethecobwebs:

stressedtransanarchist:

unironic-anarcholiberal:

bigbadtony:

spartacus-league:

unironic-anarcholiberal:

spartacus-league:

peppy-libertarian-chick:

modestpepperhead:

When u work full time but it’s a minimum wage job so you can’t afford rent and food so you have to steal to eat.you have no way to save money to get out of the cycle. And you can’t enroll in school because you are broke , and even if you took out a loan you still have to work full time to pay rent. And your family is broke and then your dad gets demoted at work so they are even more broke now and you worry about them affording food and bills.

Get. Another. Job.

so much privilege, so little rationality

Lol. That’s the libertarian solution to poverty? “Just work TWO full time jobs”?

“Just spend the vast majority of your waking hours at work.”

“Just give up every waking moment of your life to wage slavery”

“What do you mean you need to sleep? That’s commie talk, you pinko.”

Let’s break it down. There’s 168 hours in a week, 24 hours a day, seven days. You typically spend 8 hours a day asleep, so you have about 168 - 56, for 112 waking hours a week, If you spent 80 hours a week working (which would be two full-time jobs, you’d have 32 waking hours a week leftover, which is about 4 and a half hours a day. 4.5 hours to drive to work, from work, oh and also between your two different jobs, let’s be generous and say that only takes an hour out of your day, you’re down to 3.5 waking hours a day for eating, bathing, taking care of your home and your family, doing chores and errands, recreation, etc, including on weekend days. 

But if these jobs are normal full-time jobs, you only work Monday-Friday, which would just flat out not work, you’d have to spend 16 hours a day at work, meaning your commutes and getting ready in the morning would both cut into your eight hours a day of sleep. This would be a work regime more strenuous than almost any in history. 

casual reminder: this isn’t a hypothetical either but reality for working class people all over the US.

What’d I say, y'all? People who don’t have to worry about money have the WORST advice when it comes to money AND they have NO IDEA what it takes to survive on nothing.

and all of this is even assuming a person is 1) fit and healthy enough to work two jobs and 2) has two job openings available for them.

presumably in this libertarian paradise, if either or both of these options are a problem, you’re screwed and they’re okay with that?

lupinatic:

the-real-seebs:

vastderp:

dynamicsymmetry:

fozmeadows:

Back in early high school, I knew a girl - we were kinda friends by virtue of having multiple friends in common, but in hindsight, she never much liked me - who had this purebred dog. I’d met him at her place, and he wasn’t desexed, which was pretty unusual in my experience, so it stuck in the memory. And one day, as we were walking across the playground, this girl - I’ll call her Felice - said to me, “Hey, so we’re going to start using my dog as a stud.” And I’m like, Oh? And she’s like, “Yeah, we’ve been talking to breeders, we’re going to get to see his puppies and everything,” and I made interested noises because that actually sounded pretty interesting, and she went on a little bit more about how it would all work -

And then, out of nowhere, she swapped this sly look with another girl, burst out laughing and exclaimed, “God, you’re so gullible. I literally just made that up. You’ll believe anything!”

And I was just. Dumbfounded. Because I was standing there, staring at them, and they were laughing like I was an idiot, like they’d pulled this massive trick on me, and all I could think, apart from why the fuck they felt moved to do this in the first place, was that neither of them knew what gullible means. Like, literally nothing in that story was implausible! I knew she had an undesexed, male, purebred dog! It made total sense that he be used for a stud! And it wasn’t like I was getting this information from a second party - the person who actually owned the dog was telling me herself! And I felt so immensely frustrated, because they both walked off before I could figure out how to articulate that gullible means taking something unlikely or impossible at face value, whereas Felice had told me a very plausible lie, and while the end result in both cases is that the believer is tricked, the difference was that I wasn’t actually being stupid. Rather, Felice had manipulated the fact that she occupied a position of relative social trust - meaning, I didn’t have any reason to expect her to lie to me - to try and make me feel stupid.

Which, thinking back, was kind of par for the course with Felice. On another occasion, as our group was walking from Point A to Point B, I felt a tugging jostle on my school bag. I didn’t turn around, because I knew my friends were behind me, and my bag was often half-zipped - I figured someone was just shoving something back in that had fallen out, or had grabbed it in passing as they horsed around. Instead, Felice steps up beside me, grinning, and hands me my wallet, which she’d just pulled out, and tells me how oblivious I was for not noticing that she’d been rifling my bag, and how I ought to pay more attention. This was not done playfully: the clear intent, again, was to make me feel stupid for trusting that my friends - which, in that context, included her - weren’t going to fuck with me. As before, I couldn’t explain this to her, and she walked on, pleased with herself, before I could try.

The worst time, though, was when I came back from the canteen at lunch one day, and Felice, again backed up by another girl, told me that my dad had showed up on campus looking for me. By this time, you’d think I’d have cottoned on to her particular way of fucking with me, but I hadn’t, and my dad worked close enough to the school that he really could’ve stopped in. So I believed her, a strange little lurch in my stomach that I couldn’t quite place, and asked where he was. She said he’d gone looking for me elsewhere, at another building where we sometimes sat, and so I hurried off to look for him, feeling more and more anxious as I wondered why he might be there.

I was halfway across campus before I let myself remember that my mother was in hospital.

I felt physically sick. My pulse went through the roof; I couldn’t think of a reason why my dad would be at school looking for me that didn’t mean something terrible had happened to my mother, that her surgery had gone wrong, that she was sick or hurt or dying. And when my dad wasn’t where she’d said he would be, I hurried back to Felice - who was now sitting with half our mutual group of friends - only to be met with laughter. She called me gullible again, and that time, I snapped. I chased her down and punched her, and the friends who’d only just arrived, who didn’t know what had happened or why I was reacting like that, instantly took her side. Noises were made about telling the rest of our friends what I’d done, and I didn’t want them to hear Felice’s version first, so I ran off to the library, where I knew they were, to tell them first.

I walked into the library. I found our other friends. I was shaky and red-faced, and they asked me what had happened. I told them what Felice had done, that I’d hit her for it, that my mother was in hospital for an operation - something I’d mentioned in passing over the previous week; multiple people nodded in recognition - and how I’d thought Felice’s lie meant that something bad had happened. And then I burst into tears, something I almost never did, because it wasn’t until I said it out loud that I realised how genuinely frightened I’d been. I sat down at the table and cried, and a girl - I’ll call her Laurel - who I’d never really been close to - who was, in fact, much better friends with Felice than with me - put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me, volubly furious on my behalf.

And then the other girls showed up, and Laurel said, with that particular vicious sincerity that only twelve-year-olds can really muster, “Prepare to die, Felice,” and I almost wanted to laugh, but didn’t. A girl who was a close friend, who’d come in with Felice, took her side, outraged that I’d punched someone, until Laurel spoke up about my mother being in hospital, and everyone went really quiet. Which was when I remembered, also belatedly, that Laurel’s own mother was dead; had died of cancer several years previously, which explained why she of all people was so angry. I have a vivid memory of the look on Felice’s face, how she tried to play it off - she said she hadn’t known about my mother, I pointed out that I’d mentioned it multiple times at lunch that week, and she lost all high ground with everyone.    

Felice never played a trick on me again.

Eighteen years later, I still think about these incidents, not because I’m bearing some outdated grudge, but because they’re a good example of three important principles: one, that even with seemingly benign pranks, there’s a difference between acting with friendly or malicious intent; two, that ignorance of context can have a profound effect on the outcome regardless of what you meant; and three, that getting hurt by people who abuse your trust doesn’t make you gullible - it means you’re being betrayed. 

And I feel like this is information worth sharing.  

Oh, hello there, primary reason for deep-seated trust issues two decades later.

daaamn that made my blood boil

Wow, yeah. That’s not how a “prank” works, people.

And with the Felices of the world, they’re always eager to mock you for trusting them, but if you make it clear you don’t trust them anymore they get upset and paint themselves as the victims because you can’t take a joke.

heathyr:

Most people I know had that one movie as a kid; that one movie that they would watch it over and over and over to the resigned acceptance of their parents. I’ve always thought that movie says something about a person. What was your movie?

tw11ngem11n11:

Heres a little list of shit I loved live: 

• Alexander is completely nonchalant and remorseless when he informs Burr that he punched someone, like he literally couldn’t care less. Burr is less so.
• In “Shot”, Burr is literally just sitting in the back reading and ignoring everything else like its not even happening.
• Burr buys the whole gang literal shots that they’re going clubbing
• Hamilton and Laurens keep staring each other in the eye
• Lafayette is a dirty enabler and so is Mulligans
  
• When Burr convinces Hamilton to let Seabury be, Lafayette pushes Hamilton forwards again to tear Seabury down while Mulligan cheers. Laurens does not encourage Hamilton forwards but does also cheer.
• Hamilton gets up on Seabury’s box with him and gets right in his face while Seabury tries to ignore him.
• Angelica is so tired of these men and wants them to stop. Every time someone says anything misogynistic or offensive she just stares into the crowd like she’s staring into the camera on The Office.
  
• After Alexander has gotten permission to marry Eliza, he starts doing a heavily hip-based dance similar to moves from Shot. When Phillip Schuyler sees, he just looks horrified.
• When Hamilton says the line, “Angelica tried to take a bite of me”, Eliza despite being held lovingly by Alexander, briefly backwards, suddenly worried and looking for Angelica
• At the wedding, Laurens and Angelica walked together and Peggy and Lafayette. While walking, Lafayette leans over and whispers something that is clearly dirty and Peggy walks away offended
• Mulligans is a great flower girl
• When under stress, Hamilton wears glasses. In Stay Alive, he’s wearing them at the beginning. 
• In King George’s second song, he wanders onto the stage as everyone from Battle of Yorktown is still on stage and looks really disgusted as he does his best to avoid touching anybody else while walking to the front.
• Hamilton loves his son so much, you can see it so clearly if Lin’s acting and singing. Holy shit, he loves Phillip.
• The complete 180 and shock in Hamilton from “Dear Theodosia” to Eliza telling him that Laurens is dead broke me a little inside for good
  
• Jefferson, when first introduced, starts calling for more applause from the audience
• Hamilton just cuts in front of Washington when introducing himself to Jefferson in “What Did I Miss” to shake Jefferson’s hand and Washington takes him aside to scold him like a tired dad who just can’t seem to teach their kid manners
• Jefferson, at the end of his part of Cabinet Battle 1, literally drops the mic, but into Madison’s waiting hands as if they fucking rehearsed it before hand. Either that or Madison just knows Jefferson too well. Either way, I’m glad they didn’t actually drop the mic bc that shit is delicate and expensive.
• In Jefferson’s part of Cabinet Battle 1, everyone is laughing and during Hamilton’s shit got real
• In the beginning of Hamilton’s part in Cabinet Battle 1, Washington looks proud and occasionally leans over to the guy next to him, as if he was a proud parent at his kids recital going, “That’s my kid!”. By the end he is horrified and so very tired.
• How tired Washington looked when Hamilton said that “Jefferson started it”
• When practicing piano, Phillaps keeps slouching and when they get to the end he shouts done and pouts
  
• After giving his rap he cheers and then runs off (presumably to dinner)
• Someone in sound forgot to open Phillip’s mic in Schuyler Defeated but I could still hear the line, though faint. Broadway stars are good at projecting their voices and it makes me bitter that high schoolers don’t project well or take good care of microphones. 
• The parallel between when Washington first hires Hamilton by handing him a quill and then in “One Last Time” where he hands Hamilton a quill again, but with their sides reversed as he asks Hamilton to help him write his farewell address.
• When Madison yells the line “Which I wrote!”, he’s looking back at the direction where Hamilton and Washington walked offstage and looking really offended.
• When Burr is reading the letter and gets to the point where it says “Ghat was my wife you decided to (fuck)”, Jefferson runs over to see.
• Jefferson started bouncing up and down on the desk in Reynolds Pamphlets as if by the power of his ass alone. I’m still not sure how he did it without his hands.
• Jefferson started making it rain with Reynolds pamphlets and King George joined in 
• The stage manager accidentally popped out a little too much from the hole he has at the front of the stage while handing prop pamphlets to Jefferson and immediately ducked back under when he noticed
• In Blow Us All Away, when Phillip says the line, “The ladies say that’s not where the resemblance stops”, he thrusts his hips forward and motions downwards with him hands and raises his eyebrows with a shit-eating grin.
• When Phillip goes to Alexander for dueling advice, Hamilton is wearing his glasses. 
• Never does Hamilton think that his son is going to die, not even once despite going off to a duel. Never once could Alexander imagine his son dying despite thinking about his own demise all the time.
• Phillip dies stroking his mother’s hair and holding his father’s hand.
  
• Eliza screaming “No!” and sobbing over her dead son’s body
  
• Alexander breaking down into senseless sobbing when Eliza holds his hand and forgives him is heartbreaking and beautiful. The fucking raw emotion Miranda manages to get is incredible and I don’t know how he does it, let alone twice a day most days a week.
  
• Alexander just trying to fucking mind his own business as everyone asks for his opinion. He keeps repeating, “it’s quiet uptown” and walking off with his head down but they keep following the poor man who just wants peace. All throughout this scene, he’s wearing his glasses.
• As they all sing, “If you had to choose…choose, choose,” Alexander is alone on the second level, leaning over the railing with his glass looking between Burr and Jefferson who are in spotlights on either side of the stage.
• When Alexander says he supports Jefferson, Burr’s smile doesn’t drop immediately. Instead he freezes, like he can’t believe what he’s heard.
• As the ensemble is complaining about Jefferson and complimenting Burr, the man in question is just hunched over listening and punches the air like an excited child at the end when they voice their approval of him
• Jefferson shaking his head, offended by the very idea when Madison proposes getting Hamilton;s support.
• In Obedient Servant, Alexander and Burr are exchanging letters and when it comes to Hamilton, he just keep writing and writing and Burr stares at the growing pile of letters in his hand tiredly. Ensemble members keep handing Burr page after page and, a cast member dances and pretends to flutter wings with the last two pages as Burr waits with soulless eyes. Burr is so tired but Hamilton just keeps writing. By the end he has a stack at least half a foot thick and he doesn’t even read them, he just throws them behind him.
• Burr just looks dead inside at the line, “Here’s an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements.” 
  
• Hamilton, in the end is wearing his glasses when he dies. The same glasses he survived Fort Knox with, the same glasses that he wore when he had an affair, the same glasses he had on as he worked nonstop to try to block out John Lauren’s death, the same glasses he wore when he sent his son off to the duel, and the same glasses he wore in the aftermath.
• Eliza, at the end of the musical, gives this loud gasp as she’s facing the audience. Either its symbolic of her dying and joining Hamilton as thats the first time she sees his face again despite dancing around him for half the song or she’s seeing the audience and realizing that she did enough.

Other Things:

• Burr’s lighting is squares and Hamilton’s is circles
  
• The orchestral backtrack to this musical is fucking amazing
• Broadway drinks are always expensive as hell but they come with a nice souvenir cup to keep, even the small alcoholic glasses were souvenir cups with the same design and everything
• The woman next to me was full on sobbing and so was I. We laughed about it afterwards.
• If you bought merch at the begining, your bag said “Good luck after the show” on it which says a lot.
• Everyone, and I mean literally every fucking cast member in this goddamn show has nice ass arms and I’m weak.

hsavinien:

minim-calibre:

minim-calibre:

minim-calibre:

mark-helsing:

WHENEVER YOU SEE THIS POST ON YOUR DASH, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND WRITE ONE SENTENCE FOR YOUR CURRENT PROJECT.

Just one sentence. Stop blogging for one minute and write a single sentence. It could be dialogue, it could be a nice description of scenery, it could be a metaphor, I don’t care. The point is, do it. Then, when you finish, you can get back to blogging.

If this gets viral, you might just have your novel finished by next Tuesday.

Goddamn it, it’s back.

If it stays back, I might manage to finish a third story this year. Jesus.

I swear, this is now my only writing motivation.

BACK AGAIN??? Sigh. 

Okay, sorry if anyone gets sick of this, but it’s the best way for me to get myself to write.

teenagecentury:

rubbishapples:

July 1st.

182nd day of the year.

It’s 12pm.

Congratulations you’ve officially wasted half a year.

I finally understand what blink-182 means.

hsavinien:

minim-calibre:

minim-calibre:

minim-calibre:

mark-helsing:

WHENEVER YOU SEE THIS POST ON YOUR DASH, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND WRITE ONE SENTENCE FOR YOUR CURRENT PROJECT.

Just one sentence. Stop blogging for one minute and write a single sentence. It could be dialogue, it could be a nice description of scenery, it could be a metaphor, I don’t care. The point is, do it. Then, when you finish, you can get back to blogging.

If this gets viral, you might just have your novel finished by next Tuesday.

Goddamn it, it’s back.

If it stays back, I might manage to finish a third story this year. Jesus.

I swear, this is now my only writing motivation.

BACK AGAIN??? Sigh. 

Okay, sorry if anyone gets sick of this, but it’s the best way for me to get myself to write.

tzikeh:

seananmcguire:

suricattus:

fozmeadows:

concept: a TV show with a dark, tragic, fucked-up beginning that steadily gets happier and lighter and more hopeful as the seasons go on, the narrative arc premised on healing and growth instead of a “gritty” downspiral, the challenges faced in each season finale leaving the characters in a progressively better place. nobody queer dies, and the worst things we ever see after season 1 all happen in flashbacks to events preceding the now. 

So… Leverage?

Leverage.

Leverage.

reyairia:

reyairia:

A gameshow that forces male nerds into the unnecessarily sexualized outfits female video game characters have that they defend as “practical,” and then makes them do agility training

this had sixty notes last night

SIXTY NOTES

debrides:

I worked with toddlers and pre schoolers for three years. Sometimes I accidentally slip and tell a friend to say bye to an inanimate object (“say bye bus!”) & occasionally they unthinkingly just do it.