bob woke up and chose violence on this day

the sequel tho

you know what really gets my goat?

el chupacabra

I’m sorry!? What?!

Whoa, chupacabra’s a millennial?

by talos this can’t be happening is a mandela effect because the actual phrase is by the gods this can’t be happening and i’ve never heard anyone say the former in game

by talos this can’t be happening

the phrase by talos this can’t be happening is actually from a rupaul roleplay blog who left their husband in a cage with no food and water for a few weeks and the husband died sorry to be the spoil sport but it does have an origin and it is a very tumblr origin in nature

Here’s the post they’re referring to for context

Oh. Skyrim husband.

oh god

Oh Talos

I love seeing it when people find this out. I fucking love it.

you have to stay alive. you're going to be such a beautiful middle aged freak. young freaks will see you in the street and know that things can be okay.

Chuck Jones is the best counterexample to “the curtains are just blue” because you would not believe the amount of thought and art theory he put into his silly little cartoons

I need to dig out my Chuck Jones books but one time he was talking about the Wile E Coyote gag where he runs off a cliff and continues running for a little bit before noticing there’s no ground underneath him and then turns to the camera and holds up a sign saying “Help!” before plummeting and Jones said the reason Coyote does that instead of immediately trying to get back to the cliff edge is bc Coyote embodies anxiety and in that particular moment represents the fear and worry about the judgement of others over and above the desire for self-preservation.

Like, if someone was told that interpretation without knowing any better they’d think it came from some pretentious academic or whatever but nope! It’s literally the creator like those are the thoughts he had in his head when he was creating the cartoons

the Nine Rules of the Roadrunner cartoons always sticks with me. Rule 3 especially

You either die constantly saying the hero is actually a villain, or you live long enough to see yourself become the hero who is actually a villain

i hate when the teacher’s like “write about a bad time in your life” like i ain’t tryna get a social worker up my ass, thanks tho fam

This ain’t no joke I had to write a essay about what your scared of so I did it (I was scared of growing up and where my life was going) it was great got a 100 but then I got sent to councilors office and was sent to therapy cause they thought I was suicidal and on the verge of breaking…Apparently they ment like spiders or some shit…

Also like, not everyone finds that at all useful or cathartic.

“Write about some difficulty you’ve experienced personally.” “Aight fam let me just break down into tears and skip the rest of my classes.”

Yes! I had a psych professor ask us to discuss outloud the hardest thing that ever happened to us literally two days ago and I said “you realize the position you’re putting us in? I feel obligated to lie to not only save my peers the awkwardness but also because I will find no relief in answering honestly but rather anxiety. The hardest thing in my life is having people repeatedly tell me I should find some sort of catharsis in reliving my trauma so someone else can feel pity for me!”

The whole class backed me up because they didn’t want to either! Those kind of exercises are only helpful for people who don’t have any real past/current issues– which is no one btw.

On par with this are those fucking self-assessments where they want to to be optimistic and positive about the future. You’re sitting there drowning in college stress and anxiety so bad you can’t look another human in the eye, fighting depression so that you can eventually achieve a piece of paper that might get you a better job if the economy doesn’t tank itself (guess what, it did), and the most optimistic thing you can think of is that the class ends in 20 minutes.

OH! I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THIS!

There’s a WIRED article that explains the history behind this practice. 

Basically, this guy named Jeffrey Mitchell had a traumatic experience, then after months of PTSD, he told a confidant about the event that traumatized him. Retelling the event to a confidant was so cathartic for Mitchell that his PTSD went away after. He did a bunch of research to see if his personal experience of catharsis and relief could be replicated in other people suffering from PTSD. Years later he published a paper proposing a formalized psychiatric treatment revolving around this idea that expressing a traumatic experience helps relieve it. The paper was so influential that the whole psychiatric community adopted “critical incident stress debriefing” (CISD) as a standard treatment for PTSD.

Unfortunately … it’s bullshit.

Not only does the CISD treatment program Mitchell came up with not help the majority of patients who try it, but it actually makes PTSD worse in the majority of patients who try it.

The WIRED article explains why:

Basically, Mitchell waited until he had some emotional distance before trying to recall the memory, and he had full control of the situation. It was fully his decision. Nobody was pressuring him to talk about it. So he felt safe. Thinking about the memory from a place of safety allowed his brain to re-contextualize the memory as harmless.

Conversely, pressuring a patient to recall a traumatic memory, particularly when it’s still fresh in their minds, makes the patient feel very unsafe. Recalling a bad memory in this unsafe context only serves to re-traumatize the patient. 

[link to the whole article]

basically, there’s a big damn difference between choosing to confide in someone you trust and being pressured to make a public spectacle of your trauma

THIS JUST IN: Forced Public Recalling of Trauma Not As Helpful As Voluntarily Processing Trauma In A Safe Space

Todoroki “Ride or die” Shouto

Villain: We kidnapped your son!

Endeavor: Which one? I have three.

Villain: Uh, he said he enjoys being kidnapped more than spending time with you? -geez, what did you do?-

Endeavor: Which one? I have three.

Villain: ...uh, he's kinda emo and blunt?

Endeavor: Which one? I have three.

Villain: ...uh, he keeps talking about someone named 'Midoriya'?

Endeavor: Oh. That'll be Shoto then.

Lol

I'm sorry but it's absolutely vital that we use his direct quotes on this:

i cannot stop laughing at send no pee

I love tumblr's aging userbase so much

that looks like a condom and the fact that everyone in the notes is saying “the orb” proves that no one on this website fucks

the fuck kinda bouncy-ball ass condoms are you using

the fact that someone thinks that looks like a condom is proof that no one on this website fucks

ok y’all it’s LITERALLY taken from the “wizard pondering his orb” image

it’s an orb. 

ok not to beat a dead horse but i found the ORIGINAL image and it’s cover art from a lotr themed ttrpg.

so

No it isn't that's from 1993 you fucking poseur, it's from A SPY IN ISENGARD published in 1988 I'm SICK and TIRED of you people getting it WRONG

5 reblog additions later and this post is still best summarized by "no one on this website fucks"

people working in the production of supernatural back in 2008 really decided to cast a hot, blue-eyed, dark-haired tanned man to play a badass angel of the lord in a fucking suit and trenchcoat combo, gave him an epic entrance filled with awe and sparks, had him save one of the protagonists from literal hell and say shit like "good things do happen" or "you don't think you deserve to be saved' and really thought "naaaah, this is not gonna be gay".

casual moments to eat glass to. your dad is so proud of you he talks to strangers you've never met before about you constantly but not to you. your dad loves you so much but he screamed at you and neglected you your entire childhood.

The orange kitty presented...

that one line from bobby's hunting guide or whatever, about how john picked up dean one night on the side of the road after dean had gone out looking for him... in my gut I know john was a "get out of the car; you're hoofin' it from here" kind of parent. a "quit that right now or you're walking home; hope you can find you way" kind of parent.

so I need sam waiting on tenterhooks in the motel room of the week, up way past midnight waiting for john and dean to get back from a hunt. for him to breathe deeply for the first time in what feels like days when he hears the rumble of the loudest car in the universe rolling into the lot, and for john to give the special knock at the door and sam's so relieved to let them in, equilibrium resettling, all three of them together under one roof.

only dean's not with john.

he's not out under the weak light of the parking lot sodium lamps. he's not crouched over the back seat of the impala, rifling through the footwell. he's not unpacking gear from the trunk or coming back from the bank of vending machines with condensation-wet cans of squirt jammed in his pockets or leaning bloody and spent against dad's shoulder.

he's not. fucking anywhere.

I need sam losing his absolute shit, zero to feral in six-point-three seconds flat. screaming and scrabbling at john, "where is he where is he where the fuck is he?!" I need sam just sobbing with his whole chest because it finally happened, this is his nightmare, his literal worst fear realized because dean's dead out there somewhere and knowing dad, he's probably already salted dean down and soaked him in gasoline and lit him up, a tragedy with no loose ends.

I need sam just wailing, can't catch his breath crying, the ugly snotty gagging kind of crying as john finally just manhandles him back into the room and tries to tell him, "jesus, sammy. he's fine. thought it'd be a good idea to run that smartass mouth of his on the way back, so he's taking a little time to himself and walking the last stretch here."

I need sam who looks at john with more disgust and visceral loathing than a twelve year old should be able to manage. who grabs his coat off the bed and his knife from under the pillow and is out the door into the night before john can get a hand on him. I need sam sprinting down the busted concrete drive to the main road and taking off along the sloping gravel shoulder in the oh-dark-thirty blue-blackness, still crying but trying to get his breath back so he can holler for dean.

(I need dean trudging along in the pre-dawn dark, pulling up short when he hears the slip-slide of running feet on gravel headed towards him and his name screamed into the dark. dean who takes off at a dead run because sammy sammy sammy sammy shit-fuck sammy what's the matter)

(I need sam who launches himself bodily at dean when he finally gets close enough. who lets his heart pound rabbit-quick against dean's chest through their jackets. who's probably too big to be picked up and held like this, really, but who can't won't let go once he's got dean wrapped up in his arms. who slides around to dean's back and pulls dean's collar aside so he can put his ear to dean's pulsepoint as he's piggybacked the rest of the way back.)

anyways... john pretends to be asleep when they make it back to the motel. they know he's awake, he knows they know he's awake, but no way is he gonna look at sam's face again without at least five hours of sleep under his belt.

(nobody says a word about it when they pack up and check out in the morning. nobody says a word about it, ever.)

I think people forget the biggest difference in how Jensen acts toward Supernatural compared to Jared is that Jared got a complete story arc for his character, as shitty as that ending may have been for him. Sam retired from the hunter life, had a wife and a family, and grew old in peace and relative happiness. Dean died with his storyline unfinished. 15x18 clearly set him up to respond to Castiel's confession, and he wasn't able to. Dean dies on a hunt young, miserable, and alone - exactly how he thought he'd go out when he was 26. That's not a satisfying conclusion; it's a slap in the face. And Jensen knows that. That's why he can't let Supernatural go; it's not finished for him yet.