like the stress, the pressure and everything ya know. everyone keeps saying like ‘school makes me cry’ and stuff but has it really made you cry bc i cried a lot of times tbh
Headcannon that all demigod children of Poseidon have amazing singing voices because they are related to the sirens.
Except for Percy
No, Especially Percy.
So like pretty much no one hears Percy sing and one day he’s just like “hey what’s the name of this song” and he sings a little verse and everyone just sorta stops and looks at him because they were weirdly compelled to drop everything they were doing and just go over to listen to him and he’s just looking back at them like what??
I’ve got to believe that the Resistance’s intelligence officers are just. constantly Done. With everyone.
Rey’s understanding of aurebesh is more functional than formal, which isn’t a problem until the Resistance starts asking her to submit mission reports—she rarely spells anything the same way twice (”even her name!” the intelligence officer moans) and her sentence structure is….not so much a structure as “a loose grouping of things that might be parts of speech”
“…..I don’t understand, what’s the problem?” Finn asks because Finn’s grammar is impeccable, once you decipher the dense nest of abbreviations, First Order codes, and trooper slang that fill his reports. (This does not save any more time.)
“If you could maybe…..not? wax lyrical about the TIE fighter?” the intelligence officer tells Poe, when he finally gets around to submitting his report on the escape from the Finalizer. “Not that understanding enemy technology isn’t a vital contribution to intelligence, but we don’t need 500 polysyllabic words about how the sun glinted off the casing.”
General Organa still submits reports like they used to in the Rebellion (her battle damage assessment style is about thirty years out of date, and she calculates galactic coordinates like it’s the late republic) but everyone in intel is fucking terrified of bringing this up to her. Instead, they have a designated officer who deals exclusively with translating General Organa’s reports into more modern New Republic standards,so they can be processed.
(At least yours actually submits reports, their counterparts in the First Order would say, if they all got together in a bar somewhere to commiserate about how hard soldiers make military intelligence. Kylo Ren has submitted exactly one misrep in the last 15 years. Thirty-two people died and it just said ‘it was the Force’.)
listen, there is absolutely nothing that gets me going like mutual seemingly unrequited pining like? i live for both people losing their minds over the other person in bitter silence. savoring every single accidental brush of their fingers, elbows, thighs, every stray glance, memorizing every gesture or expression they catch while the other isn’t looking, all while being absolutely convinced that it’s one-sided only to finally!! finally find out it wasn’t in a triumphant moment of bliss after years and years of delicious, soul-rending, torturous, heart-wrenching pining. i literally don’t care about the fact that this trope is predictable af and always plays out the same way i will still go wild over it every single time like they’ll be doing the same reveal scene i have seen a million times and i’m still on the edge of my seat gasping “are they gonna kiss???”
my single greatest weakness as far as love stories go
is when a story is told through one character’s (pining) point of view, but you the reader KNOW that their love interest loves them back
and the pov character casually says something that you the reader KNOW is gonna be completely devastating to their love interest, but pov character has NO IDEA, like:
“[innocently devastating thing],” said pov character
a strange look seemed to pass over love interest’s face. “yeah, [seemingly casual response that comes off as a little stilted, for reasons pov character just cannot pinpoint],” said love interest.
“uh, [joke that accidentally just DIALS UP THE AGONY TO A THOUSAND FOR LOVE INTEREST],” pov character added, to cut the tension.
love interest step’s faltered for a second. “[seemingly casual response that is FILLED WITH EXQUISITELY REPRESSED PAIN AND LONGING].” it sounded a little gruff. probably love interest was just distracted, or wanted some space. who could blame them?
Captain Phasma gets hauled in by the Resistance at some point
and because she’s the highest-ranking officer they’ve ever caught, Leia comes in to question Phasma personally, with Luke in tow
they enter the interrogation room, and behind the blaster-proof viewport, standing at parade rest, is this 6 ½ foot brick shit-house of a woman in stormtrooper under-armor
Leia just sort of… freezes, and then she’s grabbing her brother’s arm and dragging him back out into the hallway
the door’s barely shut behind them before she’s doubled over in laughter, helplessly, the kind of laughter that comes from having to keep yourself together for years before something finally breaks
and Luke is this close to calling for a medic when Leia manages to gasp out,
“Don’t you think she’s a little tall for a stormtrooper?”
those little things on ur nose aren’t blackheads, don’t try and get rid of them they’re sebaceous filaments and they’re permanent and literally everyone has them
every girl has that little pouch of fat on her lower tummy, despite what magazines try n show u, you have important organs there that need to be protected don’t try and get rid of ur pouch
ur body is smarter than u think and it knows what to do when u eat more than normal. one bad day, or even week, of eating poorly isn’t gonna ruin anything at all I pinky promise
if u think u look good up until u try taking a selfie, it’s not ur fault - our faces are asymmetrical and when u see ur face flipped it will look unnatural to u, since u don’t see it that way when u look in the mirror. to everyone else it looks perfectly fine
no one’s stomach looks the same at 8pm as it does at 8am. no one has a chiseled six pack after a day of eating, not even the super fit people u see on tumblr, because ur stomach naturally expands after eating and expecting to have a flat tummy before bed is very unrealistic
no one notices if the bags under ur eyes are bad today. no one pays attention to the bump in ur nose or the zit on ur chin or the piece of hair that u missed when u were straightening. literally no one notices these things except you so stop worrying about it ur gonna be fine
sometimes u just gotta get over urself
this made me cry I needed it so bad
No one is paying attention to your small flaws of the day because they’re too obsessed with worrying about their own
one of the most frustrating things about humans is you can take a group of humans and you can say, ‘look, it’s incredibly important for people to be nice to each other’, and the humans will think, ‘yes, it is important for people to be nice to me’, and then the humans will all viciously fight over which of them the others should be nice to.
Every time someone tries to explain the metaplot of Supernatural to me, it basically ends up sounding like redneck Dragon Ball Z. I’m sure there’s some nuance I’m failing to grasp here.
Care to elaborate on that?
…I’m not even offended, just absolutely curious. From the stuff I’ve seen and heard about Supernatural I can’t see the connection.
Mostly, I get the impression of a show that doesn’t know how not to escalate.
Every threat’s gotta be quantitatively bigger and badder than the one that came before. Every deus ex machina’s gotta be shinier than the last one. Every season’s gotta end with a massive eleventh-hour powerup for our heroes, only for the next season to raise the stakes enough to put them back in the underdog position.
It’s like, you beat the Devil himself? Well, now you’ve gotta fight the Devil’s cousin Phil, who has conveniently gone entirely unmentioned up until now, but he’s totally twice as evil.
That last paragraph was literally supposed to be the most ridiculous hypothetical example I could think of, and people are messaging me to say “his name was Metatron, not Phil”. I can’t even make fun of this show.
People now are like, “Your right to free speech doesn’t mean you can express an offensive opinion”
Like what the fuck does right to free speech mean, then?
when you go from a bad situation into a better one you may collapse exhausted and unsure what to do and full of grief, you may need time to regain the ability to do things as yourself or motivated by anything other than terror, you may need time to process or mourn or fall apart in ways you could not before,
and people may use this as proof that the old situation was better for you, proof that you need to go back, and it is not proof that it was better for you or proof that you need to go back
!!!
It’s so incredibly common to “fall apart” when you’re finally safe. You no longer need to stay so tightly coiled in on yourself, you can finally leave survival mode and process your trauma. You’re not holding yourself up by sheer terror anymore and suddenly the damage that terror has done to you becomes immediate and obvious.
This is so important. Don’t go back. Things are already getting better, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
oppressive jokes aren’t meant to just put down people they target. they are meant to help oppressors bond with each other.
don’t tell me it doesn’t matter to make such jokes when “there’s no one around to get offended”. don’t tell me to let it fucking slide.
i know why a man makes a misogynist joke when trying to blend into a company of other men. i know why white people make racist jokes about their coworker who is a PoC, and how it’s going to affect their work.
They really think “you’re ruining his life” is going to guilt trip me into silence. Victim blaming 101. If you’re a survivor of assault, know you aren’t ruining anyone’s life but saving your own. Abusers ruin their own lives.
They ruin their own life the second they make the decision to abuse you. Never forget that.
I felt so fucking bad when I realised the guy I took to court had a newborn kid. Then I realised - whatever the outcome - HE made the decision to break the law. I didn’t make that decision. Everything that happens after that is a consequence of his decision, not mine.
i assume that, like, all of nyc is in on a conspiracy to hide the truth about blunt force head trauma from daredevil. like, to… protect his feelings??? the cops must be like “oh, yeah buddy, you really dinged those bad guys up! they’ll be feeling it for weeks! they’ll really think twice about Doing A Crime again.” when like, in reality, they are dead. they are dead people. they got busted in the head six times with a carbon fibre rod, and they died en route. i mean lets get real. daredevil showing up to the hospital with self-help books about starting over, “i’d like to drop these off for some of the bikers,” and the nurses all look at each other like, “uh… oh, honey, they were transferred to metro… north…. yeah, insurance thing. we’ll hold onto those for you.” they are all dead matt they’re dead. church is cool but maybe you should spend some more time on the Medical Side of wikipedia
American Eagle’s body positive campaign for men was an April Fool’s “joke”. Not only that, but the models that participated were lied to and had no idea that this wasn’t real and was a “prank”.
This is exceptionally cruel. Fat men’s bodies are not a joke.
So many fat people have trauma around the “jokes” that thin people like to play on us.
Thin people think it’s hilarious to pretend that they are romantically attracted to a fat person or that they want to be friends with a fat person.
The punchline is- HA HA! You thought you were a person! But you’re not! LOL!
These “pranks” leave scars, making it hard for their fat victims to believe anyone could ever care about them. These scars last for years, a lifetime.
That is what this “joke” reminded me of. A deep well of trauma from being subjected to the cruelties of thin people.
Of humiliation and torment, over and over, for the sake of thin people’s “jokes”.
I will not ever shop at an American Eagle again.
I stand in solidarity with fat men and masculine people.
I AM SO ANGRY. SO SO SO SO SO ANGRY. BLACK MEN ARE ALREADY UNDERREPRESENTED IN MEDIA IN POSITIVE OR ANY ROLE AND YOU THINK IT IS OK TO DO THIS EVEN MORE? LIKE THIS MODEL HAD NO CLUE?????????? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?????????
But…it was so good…
MEN CAN HAVE INSECURITIES TOO.
nice to know people will ridicule me for being a fat man as much as for being a fat woman. awesome.
my headcanon for startrek is that humans look, to vulcans, like a dog frathouse. like signing on to a human ship is exactly that thrillingly loud and frustrating and fast and stupid and fun. the humans are going to dash off to a new sector to see if there are friends there and then they will jump up and down with delight and stuff their faces up against their new friends’ genital array. the humans are going to bark for ten minutes at a rock. the humans want to chase things they can’t possibly catch just because they like running around. the humans are madly passionate about their arbitrary group identities. the humans can be divided into new arbitrary group identities which they will then be passionate about. the humans want to stick their heads out of the window of their starship and go ‘wheee!’. if you step on a human’s paw they will act like you just killed them for about thirty seconds and then want more headpats. the humans can be immediately distracted from crucial duties by the appearance of a small animal. if you howl all the humans in earshot will howl louder just to show off. a human just humped your leg. ‘don’t make it weird bro’ the human says. later the human will dig a weird bug out of the ground and eat it.
I hope you don't mind me asking, and please feel free to ignore if you do, but someone mentioned to me that you had a Phasma redemption theory, and I'll be honest, I'm *all over* that shit, and I'd love to hear it if you'd ever want to talk about it?
oh man DO I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT
ok look, before we go into anything substantial the reason i have a phasma redemption theory in the first place is i really want to care about someone from the bad guys’ side and so far you couldn’t pay me to give less of a collective flying fuck about kylo, hux and supreme leader snood. phasma on the other hand has the excellent potential of the under-explored and also there’s the whole gwendoline christie in shiny chrome full-body armor thing that speaks directly to my id, by which i mean she has express permission to bench-press me at her convenience
anyway
now that we’ve established that, i bring you: my phasma redemption theory
pahsma went from lawful evil to chaotic neutral in the time it took to say ‘holy shit did a desperately under-staffed, underfunded military offshoot of the republic blow up starkiller base with nothing but a dozen shabby x-wings and four people on the ground??’ drifting among the debris in her damaged escape pod, phasma has a crisis of faith. for the first time ever she experiences bitter disillusionment because she had sincerely, unquestioningly believed in the first order: that it was visionary and righteous, but most of all that it was infallible. phasma was the perfect product of stormtrooper conditioning that had drilled those things into her from an early age. but now it’s all gone. starkiller base, the first order’s greatest achievement, along with most of its command and troops. all blown to pieces in a matter of seconds.
phasma thinks of fn-2187.
she realizes with a dull sort of surprise that she’s not angry with him. not at all. she’s just– curious? why did he walk away from the order? phasma had never really stopped to consider his motives, only to label him as a failure and momentary disappointment, and move on. but something must have driven fn-2187 to the point where he caused the destruction of everything he was conditioned to believe in.
(if phasma knew anything about the force maybe she’d understand this sooner, but she’s about as force-sensitive as half a brick, so)
her escape pod is picked up by pirates/scavengers just as life support is beginning to fail. they very briefly consider turning phasma over to the republic, but then she breaks someone’s legs probably, and then they consider flying her to wherever she wants, no charge, please don’t hurt us we’re just small-time crooks okay? phasma has no idea where she’s supposed to go now. she knows in her heart that she can’t go back to whatever’s left of the first order because Doubt and the uncomfortable beginnings of questioning the ideology she’d submitted to and also a tiny voice that’s telling her hey hey you could do anything and go anywhere, that’s kind of neat, right? it’s a very small voice though, and phasma decides that since her life is meaningless now she’ll just go along with whatever happens.
this is how she ends up in some seedy system in the outer rim where she becomes illegal pit-fighting champion, or something similar. at some point obviously she runs into finn, rey and poe and gets roped into working together sort of grudgingly for the Adventure of the Week.
(and finn knows. the second he lays eyes on her he knows that the first order’s failure broke her and she’s been trying to put herself back together all this time, only it came out different and strange. he gets it. gets it so much it’s pissing her off)
when they part ways they aren’t friends, exactly, but there’s a feeling that when they meet again it won’t be on hostile terms. phasma nods at each of them, nods at fn-2187 and says ‘finn’ before she turns and leaves.
this is where it starts. she has a long way to go.
“villain attempts to go back in time to kill superman as a small child, gets shot in the face by ma kent, who buries him behind the barn with the others” would probably have niche appeal as a comic but i don’t care, i want it
The first time a man from the future showed up at Martha Kent’s house, Clark Kent was two years old.
According to his birth certificate, anyway. She just kind of accepted that the details were a little fudged. Relativity, and all.
Maybe the stranger would have succeeded in whatever it was he wanted to do, except that he really did just show up. Appeared, like a ghost made flesh, right in the backyard. Clark, thank goodness, was out in the fields with Jonathan. He couldn’t bear to be alone, that boy, and they could never bear to leave him.
Which left Martha free to shoot the ghostly intruder in the face.
Martha had not always considered herself a shoot first, ask questions later sort of a person. But that was before she found a baby in a spaceship where her corn was supposed to be.
They’d switch off, Jonathan and her, who got Clark and who got the shotgun. Martha got the shotgun more often than not. Guns made her husband uncomfortable. She was hardly a fan, but she’d always been a terrible pacifist. Too determined to defend herself.
The sight of all that blood and brain and bone was still nauseating. She compartmentalized, told herself it was no different from slaughtering a cow; didn’t think about riot gear or tear gas or the friends she’d lost or all the things she’d moved away from when her heart couldn’t take it any longer. This was different. This was her son.
She prodded the corpse with her foot. It remained a corpse. A real nasty looking corpse, all big and burly and holding a gun much too large. She didn’t like making assumptions based on appearances, but she didn’t imagine he’d been coming for anything nice. She bent down to search his pockets, found a metal wallet and flipped it open.
Born 2018.
Well, hell. Wasn’t that just a kick in the pants?
Probably she ought to have been a bit more unsettled than she was. But she’d been waiting two years for someone to show up on her doorstep, men in black or UFOs or something. Hell, she’d half expected her sweet little boy to hatch into something worse.
Just because she brought home space babies didn’t mean she was a damn fool.
Jonathan had rejoined her in long strides, was holding Clark in such a way that he couldn’t see the corpse on the ground. “Well, shit,” he said.
“Eyup,” Martha agreed.
“Don’t look government.”
“Nope.”
“We burying him?”
“I’ll bury him,” Martha said, standing up. “You get Clark inside and read him a book or something. I don’t want him seeing any of this, getting him messed up in the head.”
“You sure? Looks heavy.”
“That’s why we have a wheelbarrow. I’ll stick him out behind the barn, might as well keep all our secrets in one place.”
Martha had a long time to think as she dug a time traveler’s grave. There were a lot of reasons someone might travel back in time trying to kill her kid. The first was her instinct as a mother, which was: he was a fucking asshole. Who killed a kid? Fucking assholes, that was who.
Now, it was also possible that her sweet little boy grew up to be some kind of space Hitler. She didn’t think she’d raise that kind of a kid, but she didn’t suppose there was any parent who set out to raise a Hitler.
Still didn’t sit right with her. She didn’t much like the idea of killing baby Hitler, either.
My favorite millennials-only linguistics trend of our generation and only our generation is how we can just make a one-sentence pop culture reference and you don’t need to explain what you mean because everyone just GETS IT if they know the story, like, you don’t need to go on this long explanation of something when you can just say “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra” or “Shaka, when the walls fell”
Me: oh yea, sorry about that. Let me apply “harder” this time. I’ll be sure to write my contact info extra “hard” this time. I’ll make sure to touch up my resume and make it hella “hard” this time around too.
preach
Adults: You just need to hit the pavement, knock on some doors, call the hiring manager!
Every job application ever: PLEASE NO UNSOLICITED VISITS OR PHONE CALLS.
Fact: Our reception pool forwards the names of people who call unsolicited on to HR, who puts the names on a DO NOT HIRE, CANNOT FOLLOW DIRECTIONS list.
You know, I always find it interesting when people make fics/art where Edward’s been promoted to some rank above major (which comes with the state alchemist certification). It’s interesting to think about sure, but Ed does literally nothing for the army. Mustang’s in Central putting in the effort and getting his name passed around the higher-ups and kissing ass while Ed does literally exactly none of that. He runs around the country with his brother and, begrudgingly, checks in from time to time. Not the sorta dude to be “highly considered” for promotion.
Though the one instance where he could reasonably get promoted would be in the event that 1) Mustang has some sort of opening in his sector and 2) Mustang feels like being a dick.
“Hey Fullmetal, long time no see.” “Yeah yeah Al and I are in a rush. We wanted to leave Central an hour ago so hurry up and spit it out what’d you call me here for?” “Oh don’t worry it’s good news. Wonderful news. You’re really making your way in the world. See Lieutenant Colonel Davis transferred recently to Southern Command–” “Oh no.” “–Which means there’s a spot for Lieutenant Colonel open here.” “No no no you didn’t.” “Longer hours, more responsibilities, sure. But better pay, and you’d get in good with some high-ranking people, assuming you know how to brown-nose.” “I will literally kick your ass, Mustang.” “For what? Brightening you future?” “No really I will kick your ass if you’re being real here–” “Is that a challenge, Lieuuuutenant Colonel Elric?” “I swear to God Mustang if you a c t u a l l y d i d…”
And as it turns out Mustang’s completely bluffing and gave the job to some hard-working major under his command, but he couldn’t pass up he chance to see Edward’s reaction to dealing with the idea of having genuine responsibility to the Amestrian military.
Mustang knows he actually has relatively little power over Ed, because Ed is too important to the homunculi. Mustang can’t fire Ed (not that he would) or suspend him or dock his pay or dole out any punishment really for insubordination. If he tried, Ed could just completely him, and no one under Bradley’s rule would try to enforce it.
This frustrates Mustang for some time, at least until Mustang discovers he actually is in possession of a real threat against Ed: Promotion.
This confuses a lot of people, who overhear fights between Ed and Mustang that end with Mustang menacingly discussing the better healthcare benefits of Lieutenant Colonels. Or the nicer pay. Or the guaranteed apartment housing in Central.
Most soldiers start theorizing this is some kind of back-hand threat. Something like “You know Elric, you’re under consideration for Lt. Colonel and would get all these nice things. But if you’re going to be difficult, maybe we’ll give these to someone else? Think of what you’d be missing out on.”
This theory loses all of its credibility one afternoon when Mustang’s soldiers overhear a loud, heated argument between the two of them from inside Mustang’s office. It ends with the sound of Mustang slamming both his hands down on his desk, kicking his chair back, and shouting, “I SWEAR TO GOD FULLMETAL IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP I WILL PROMOTE YOU!”
Most Central soldiers just stop trying to understand alchemists at that point.
A lot of the advice I got about learning to enforce my boundaries was framed as an adversarial thing. Like, ‘yes, it might upset and disappoint the people around you, but you have to learn to tell them ‘no’ anyway.’ At best, ‘good people will still like you if you enforce your boundaries’.
What I wish I’d been told is that good people will think it’s awesome that you enforce your boundaries, that there are people who will respect the hell out of you for it, that there are people who will admire you not despite you telling them no, but because of it. That most people don’t want to make you do something you don’t enjoy,and so they’ll actively be happier and more relaxed around you if they know they can trust you to decline to do things you don’t enjoy and to ask them to stop things that bother you.
It helped me a lot, personally, to stop thinking of ‘enforcing my boundaries’ as something I did for me and more as something I did to empower the people I was close with, to build a situation where they and I felt sure everything that was going on was something we all wanted.
Most advice isn’t good for everyone and this advice seems maybe bad for people in abusive situations, because sometimes you do need to learn to enforce boundaries against people who will try to violate them. But if there are other brains like me out there: your partner will be really happy you can say no to them. your friend will be really happy you change the subject when you hate it. your roommate will really appreciate that you tell them to turn down the music. most people will feel safer and more comfortable around you if they know you’ll reliably express your needs, AND they’ll feel better about voicing theirs.
Tru fax.
I had a friend tell me that they really admired me for going “hey, I love you guys, but I need to go sit in a room by myself and read for an hour”. So yes, don’t be afraid of setting your boundaries!
And for people like me, who are very very VERY bad with things like unspoken clues to the fact that someone wants me to do/not do something or whatever? It is such a relief not to have to be constantly worried that I’ll do something that will make them not want to hang out with me anymore.
I’ve lost friends because they never tried to enforce their boundaries and as a result I had no idea I was trampling right over them until they got to a point where they couldn’t handle it anymore, and it is an AWFUL SHITTY FEELING knowing you’ve done that to someone.
Please please please enforce your boundaries with me. I promise I will love you for it.
This is so, so, SO important, people.
I am both bad at enforcing my boundaries and constantly scared of stomping over other peoples. It makes me feel safer if I know you can say No to me. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that others would feel safer if they knew I could say No as well.
Yes, yes, yes, absolutely. Honestly, as someone with a lot of bad shit in her past, I get really nervous and scared around people who won’t tell me where their boundaries are. If I can’t trust you to be honest with me when I ask “Is this ok?”, I’m just going to be anxious all the time. (Bonus points for people who constantly make me guess whether I’m upsetting them or not just so they can turn around and yell at me later! Fun times.)
Bottom line: among non-abusive people, boundaries are good for everyone. Mutually expressing boundaries with your friends is a sign of respect and kindness.
lol I had to get vaccinated for rabies once (for a job working w/ animals) and the post-injection sickness was SO BAD and the virus in it is fucking DEAD, you’re not actually sick at all it’s literally JUST YOUR IMMUNE SYSTEM BEING A SHIT I was so upset but tbh it’s a good sign bc it means you’re good and immune if that happens
So now that it is the day after Trans Day of Visibility, I am hoping fellow cis people will actually make more than just cosmetic efforts to be tolerant.
If you don’t know how you can help, pretty much every struggling trans person I ever met has a PayPal you can donate to.
If you are broke or unable, keeping other cis people accountable, make a fucking effort to use/respect pronouns, make your spaces (work, school, bathroom, home) safe and comfortable for trans people especially your friends.
Keep your comments/criticism about clothes, gender, make up, passing, sex work, respectability, gatekeeping etc to your fucking self.
If you are an artist, writer, poet etc… Representation goes a long way. Not to have them suffer, or be in pain or struggle or die but to include them as much as you would someone who was cis, as a complex character.
If you still don’t know what to do listen to a trans person when they say what they need, do the work to make sure they are heard. Especially trans women of color, especially especially especially black trans women.
I wrote the first 5,000 words of William the Antichrist. It had a demon named Crawleigh. He drove a Citroen 2CV, and was ineffectual. Proper demons like Hastur and Ligur loathed him. It had a baby swap. I sent it to a few friends for feedback. Then my graphic novel Sandman happened, and it was almost a year later that the phone rang.
“It’s Terry,” said Terry. “‘Ere. That thing you sent me. Are you doing anything with it?“
“Not really.”
“Well, I think I know what happens next. Do you want to sell it to me? Or write it together?”
“Write it together,” I said, because I was not stupid, and because that was the nearest I was ever going to get to Michaelangelo phoning to ask if I wanted to paint a ceiling with him.
So my trainer’s bf cheated on her. She broke up with him. He’s holding her stuff hostage until she agrees to talk with him. Which she refuses.
She trains; for free mind you; three college linebackers, a college wrestler, two martial artists, a body builder, and… wait for it…. a Navy seal. We’re gonna go get her shit for her.
This should make for an interesting story.
So everyone who commented on this being like the avengers, you are absolutely right. That’s what all of us had in our heads as we were rolling over to dude’s house. But I’m very proud to say, this ended without violence.
Arrival:
So the super friends all jumped into one of the linebacker’s explorer and headed over to dude’s house. Ok the squad: you all know me, but the other martial artist is a little wirey hapkido guy, the linebackers are all giants (an estimated combined weight of I’d say 750-800lbs), the wrestler looks like an escaped gorilla, then the navy seal looks like your average guy but something about him is unsettling. Really unsettling. Unfortunately, the body builder had to work. Anyway, we send the Hapkido guy and the wrestler to the door first and dude answers, screams at them, and then slams the door in their face. Then the giant linebackers head over and they ring the door bell again. Lo and behold, he was much more polite, but still denied access. Finally, me and the seal join the fray. I casually make my way towards the front of the group, but the seal decides to CLIMB THE BANISTER. We all just turned and started at him completely shocked when dude answers the door. He looks at this weird mismatched group of relatively threatening individuals and one guy perched on his banister like batman. He was like “FINE. Go take what you’re looking for.”
Retrieval:
So we’re all walking through the house gathering what we think are her things and putting them into two boxes. Mind you. We are completely guessing. We didn’t even tell her we were coming, therefore we had no list of items.The only one really being productive was Hapkido, who was legitimately looking for stuff. The linebackers were just randomly picking up furniture, turning it over, and putting it back down. Just showing off how strong they were. In case the numbers game wasn’t enough, I guess they were letting him know they could break him if they wanted to. The seal was just shadowing dude in his own house. Walking behind him, not saying much, just being creepy. Then there’s me. Who was causing general mischief…. He said to take what I was looking for, that’s what I was looking for. Ahaha and the wrestler made a fricken sandwich. Because “you guys look like you have it under control, and I’m a sucker for egg salad.” We were in and out in 15 minutes.
Delivery:
So the autobots rolled out and headed towards homegirl’s spot. She was conveniently outside when we rolled up. We got out and she was like, how do you all even know each other. The truth is, we don’t. She sent us all an email once and didn’t blind copy us all. She vented to all of us about dude holding onto her stuff and we started emailing and that was that. We told her that we went to see her ex. “OMG what did you say to him?” Nothing. We’re not messenger boys. We’re delivery boys. And we gave her her boxes of stuff. She went through the first box and said that was most of her stuff. Then she got to my box and asked “Wtf is all that shit.” So I explained that I took all the batteries out of his remote controls, his deodorant, the light bulb out of his master closet, every pair of dress socks that I could find, the laces out of his running shoes, and all the toilet paper in the house. The guys just looked at me and kind of nodded like they were impressed. She then unexpectedly started CRYING and thanked us. So you have this group of meat heads all standing awkwardly with this weeping trainer. It was quiet for a second when the seal was like “So…. chipoltle?” And we all got burrito bowls.
What a great day.
This is literally the most beautiful and thrilling tale. Start to finish.
I am almost in tears I am laughing so hard. This is beautiful. I can’t believe you took all the toilet paper. I’m dying. Help. It sounds like the start of a joke: two martial artists, a wrestler, two linebackers and a Navy Seal walk into a Chipotle.
I have reblogged this a dozen times and I will reblog it a dozen more.
wait no fucking way “there is no war in ba sing se” is an anime thing? from avatar? i thought i t was a real thing like a quote from some Important Literature that i had never heard of that must have some sort of marxist importance but no it’s from a show about a kid with a pet buffalo
Since I know there’s probably a fair amount of you out there who haven’t seen the first three Mad Max movies, I’m here to tell you a li’l secret about them:
All the people complaining about how Max “isn’t the main character” in Fury Road are big ol’ Fake Fanboys cause Max’s primary character trait in literally every movie is “I hate this, why is it happening, please leave me alone to brood in the desert in peace”.
He’s much more the central focus of the plot in the first movie but in Road Warrior and Thunder Dome he basically just gets kidnapped or beat up by wankers in weird bondage outfits and spends the rest of the movie trying to leave as soon as possible while other people are like “please solve our absurd post-apocalyptic problems”. There is not one single point where Max actively seeks out being a hero until it is forced upon him. He ACTIVELY TELLS PEOPLE WHO ASK HIM FOR HELP to take a hike.
Mad Max himself would like nothing better than to never, ever, ever be the main character.
He would also like for people to stop stealing his fucking car.
Nobody wants to escape his own movies more than Max Rockatansky.
He understands better than his own fanboys that his life sucks and you don’t want to be like him, to be Max is humiliating and painful. Every time he gets dragged into a conflict, he ends up worse than he started. Max seems to realize no good can come of this, and is weirdly genre-savvy because he’s always trying to make a getaway at the first signs of encroaching Plot. I find this darkly comical and endearing – at no point does he snap off witty quips and save the day and get the girl. Ever. He’s perpetually a weird desert loser with terrible luck. It’s great.
What makes Max a badass is the ability to survive to the end of any movie he’s unfortunate enough to find himself in.
