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#i cant believe dame judi dench said ‘reylo’

i really like looking at google image searches for “firemen rescuing cats” or something because you get super cute pictures like

AND THEN THERE’S THIS ONE

“THAT’S RIGHT TWAS I that set the house ablaze!!!”

Dying.

Every fucking time I know what’s at the bottom and every time I still lose my shit.

I’m so happy this post is back again asdlkfjsa

HAPPY TEN YEARS TO “TWAS I THAT SET THE HOUSE ABLAZE”

@hellsite-hall-of-fame @hellsite-hall-of-girlfriend

2 million

2 million f☆☆king notes.

How

Those people who constantly reblog your stuff but you never really talk:

I do notice my regulars. You guys are the best.

“Regulars” makes me feel like a bar-tender…

Wiping down my dash at the end of an evening, I see your read-more, over-hear your rant in the tags, so I pour you a drink.

“…what’s troubling you, kid?”

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday As the regular crowd tumbls by There’s an old fandom queen blogging next to me And her little gray tags catch my eye

She says tumblr I’m feeling like shit today can you send me some posts for a smile can we talk about slash, can you fill up my dash so I won’t have to think for a while

Laa dahdah didee dah La dahdah didee dah dadum

Fill up my dash, you’re my followers Fill it with pictures and fic Yeah we’re all in the mood for some memery And occasional pictures of dick

Now Jill is a centaur novelist And she writes of her girlfriend and wife She reblogs from Toni, who’s in My Little Pony, And probably will be for life.

As the staff implements wretched changes And we think of how aliens bone We are writing a lot about loneliess: It’s much better than writing alone.

AND sometimes we blog about politics

And sometimes we blog with a beer

And when I proudly boast that I’m older than most, 

They say ‘gross, what are YOU doing here’. 

*wild applause!!

When one of the classics crosses your dash, what can you do…? 😄

character in a movie: Oh no, angry dog, please don’t bite me!

the dog: I’m at work! I’m doing so good at being at work! I’m barking because my handler gave the sign ‘bark’! I am going to get such a good grade in being a dog actor, which is completely possible to achieve, and normal to want! I am doing a great job! I am proud of myself for doing such a great job! I love this, because I’d make it physically impossible to get anything done if I wasn’t enjoying it! I’m barking!

I love seeing dogs and wolves in movies because they’re acting so vicious but also their tails are wagging so hard unless the post-processing guys specifically edited out the tails (which is slightly less obvious but also hilarious in a different way once you spot it).

This is why I love the dog in the original casting of The Thing so damn much. I have never seen an acting dog move with such a deliberate, calm intent. It was like every single motion and gesture this animal made was intentional.

Apparently, according to the behind-the-scenes documentation, this dog was just fuckin like that. Almost never, if at all, looked at the camera crews and production teams. Never excitedly wagged his tail on set no matter how much of a good boy he was being. If he did, it was the same… deliberate motions.

His name was Jed, and even though he’s a dog, he deserves an oscar. He was an exceptionally good boy.

Jed also played the role of White Fang in the 90s Disney film version!

I honestly can’t imagine a better portrayal of a stoic, aloof White Fang, who gradually softens, than Jed.  Good boy.

That dog knows his job, and knows he’s damn good at it, and knows he’s probably better at his job than his coworkers.

That dog was delivering straight up Shakespearean performances, and he probably was saddled with human coworker who had to make use of such unprofessional things as second takes.

My condolences, Jed, my condolences.

truth is, underneath it all, a lot of our beliefs aren't rational, and they're formed young. all those stories of magical protagonists. secret worlds if you just had the key. creatures just out of view. all that shit we imagined doesn't go away because we got older. in a lot of ways it gets bigger, more elaborately built on.

i think we're hiding the emotionally devastating core of the walrus vs fairy debate under jokes.

you see a fairy on your doorstep? and you think finally.

Chocolate guy has learned how to make corrugated cardboard. he is a powerful eldritch being who cannot be contained. The only reason we seem to be alive is because his interests are exclusively in the making of delicious lifelike desserts.

PACKING TAPE?? fucking PACKING TAPE??

You can only reblog this today.

I missed my chance last year. Not gonna let it happen again

Dear, sweet, Littlefoot, do you remember the way to the Great Valley?  I guess so. But why do I have to know if you’re going to be with me? I’ll be with you. Even if you can’t see me. What do you mean I can’t see you? I can always see you.

The Land Before Time(1988) dir. Don Bluth

#Children’s media used to be about making you feel the entire depth and breadth of the human emotional spectrum#All while your 7 y/o brain struggled to make sense of if all. But it was like an emotional vaccine#Comprehending loss at that age didn’t make it any easier to bear with age. But atleast it was familiar (conserving these tags by @jonairadreaming because yes)

The internet trauma dumped on poor Elmo

And Sesame Street said "Y'all need therapy."

Oh, wait. Then Sesame Street said, "We're still here for you." 🥹

when I was in high school my AP english teacher told us we weren’t allowed to eat in class so I took that as a personal challenge to see what the most ridiculous thing I could eat in class without getting caught was so I started bringing soup to class and as soon as I’d crack the lid of my thermos the tiniest bit this football player that sat like 3 rows in front of me would going “I SMELL MEAT SOMEONE HAS SOUP” and no one ever believed him

The only valid response

My AP English teacher once stopped class for fifteen minutes to hunt a wasp, but if she’d banned food I would have understood, based on what happened in our class sophomore year.

(#also the football player in my class had a +2 to sleeping in class #so there’s that #am i truly fishing for someone to ask about the kool aid story #yes probably)

OK, I’ll bite. Please do tell, now I’m curious.

My sophomore year american lit teacher was two things: new to teaching and bad at thinking things through. We read The Scarlet Letter over the summer, had to turn it in 2 weeks before the semester started, and for some reason known only to herself and possibly god, she decided not only to make our seating assignment by the grade we got on it, but to actually say so to the class.

Naturally, from this moment forth, we hated her. Under this seating assignment, which lasted all year due to block scheduling, I was grouped with the student council secretary, who had never done anything remotely sneaky in her entire life, and the aforementioned football player, who I had known since birth (his) and with whom I had spent most of august having an in-depth discussion of the summer reading (mine) due to disappointments about frankenstein the year before.

At the other end of the classroom was group B-, a pissed off cluster of orchestra students who were about to turn analyzing the american dream into a blood sport and take all of us with them. We’ll get back to them in a moment.

Somewhat importantly, the three of us sat where the teacher’s back was constantly to us. This would have been fine, except for the amount of adolescent resentment simmering in that classroom. Our first semester was short stories, and football season, which lead to Football Player suffering a torn rotator cuff. Somewhat by accident, we discovered that the teacher would not notice him sleeping off his painkillers if Student Council or I pinched his good arm when she finally turned around: He’d bolt upright and mutter something about it being symbolic of the american dream. It’s due to this that the class as a whole worked out that if he was still getting an A+ while on lots of codeine, and group B- had not seen significant increases in their grades, that there wasn’t any actual grading going on.

When our mid-semester project was announced to be an in-depth analysis of a specific character or theme for The Scarlet Letter, and that extra credit would be given for anyone who brought in an appropriately symbolic food, group B- decided to kill two birds with one stone.

They brought in cookies - snickerdoodles with shiny red sugar sprinkles - and explained how they were symbolic of something to do with Dimmesdale… then waited until we bit into them.

The sugar sprinkles were salt, dyed red with food coloring. The symbolism was about deception. They got extra credit, we yelled at them, the cookies were thrown out.

Enter the end of semester project, which was on the Great Gatsby, except people did an in depth creative analysis of a chapter, and my group got the one where Gatsby’s body is discovered, took one look at each other, and decided to go all out.

We met at Student Council Secretary’s house with half a plan, and spent a Saturday afternoon going bananas. We had a game board where each group would play a trivia game about the chapter using a car symbolic of the character they were playing as (several vintage hot wheels were donated to the cause: Football and I had very angry younger brothers, later.) We had an expressionist/Dadaist/give the football player scissors poster depicting the scene of Gatsby’s death, complete with “money growing on trees” because it was faster to chop up rectangles of green construction paper in the paper cutter than to put extra work into it. We had everything… except an appropriately symbolic food.

“We should make them toast to the american dream and the trivia game winner at the end,” said Student Council. “With red koolaid,” said Football, who in addition to having slept through the first half of the semester has an unfortunate sense of humor, “To symbolize the characters’ gullibility as well as Gatsby’s blood.”

I’m not going to take credit or blame for what happened next, except to say that when you’ve known someone since birth, then been separated for the length of middle school due to districting, and then spent the last year and change rediscovering that you’re both fairly bright teenage idiots with no faith in authority while simultaneously making the worst puking noises you can manage when people mistakenly assume you’re dating, you fuel each other’s bad ideas until they become a california wildfire.

Student Council is relatively blameless, and in fact, tried to talk us out of it.

We waited. We presented. We played a trivia game and waxed rhapsodic about impressionism and did a lot of bullshitting about symbolism, and we passed out a stack of red solo cups half full of red koolaid, which NO ONE was to drink until the toast. Who won the race for the american dream? Doesn’t matter. 

“A Toast!” declared Football, “To Achieving the American Dream!” and everyone drank but us.

There was an immediate storm of spitting and yelling from the class, who had drank the kool-aid responsibly, only to discover that it had been made with many, many cups of salt instead of sugar. Group B the second (formerly group B-) was particularly loud, but not louder than our teacher, who had drank her koolaid like a shot, and was gagging enthusiastically into the classroom trashcan. Student Council was ready to die of embarassment, but Football was nothing but thorough when he decided to piss people off.

“And that kool aid is symbolic of Jay Gatsby’s blood!” he shouted, as the bell rang and I shoved him out the door before the second hour honors american english class could commit a homicide.

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i still can't get over the sheer AUDACITY of iroh going to ba sing se. like did it work? yes. but ONLY because the dai li was too busy following around some bald kid looking for his dog to notice him

like i cannot emphasize enough how fucking stupid this plan was. the siege of ba sing se ended 5 years ago. people know what iroh looks like, to the point where he once got recognized by a random army captain at a hot spring and almost got his hands broken about it. and yet he rolls up to a city that has a vested interest in recognizing him and secret police force with zuko. zuko. like i could buy that no normal citizen would look at their tea shop guy and assume he was secretly an evil general, okay. but it's one thing to just be Mushi from the Tea Shop With an Unfortunate Resemblance to General Iroh, and another fucking thing entirely when Lee the Tea Server Who Looks Weirdly Similar to Prince Zuko is standing right next to him literally twenty-four seven!! like at least get different jobs hello????

every decision iroh makes is the decision of a man fully prepared to commit to the bit. will this succeed? who knows. but it will be very funny if i pull it off