good parents dont hit their children. good parents dont touch their children inappropriately. good parents dont scream at their children. good parents dont manipulate their children. good parents dont imprison their children at home. good parents dont threaten their children. good parents dont starve their children. good parents dont harass their children.

good parents do not abuse their children.

in case you don’t know weather to reblog this:

This makes me realize several uncomfortable things about my childhood.

Wait the screaming thing isn’t a normal thing?

Apparently not

Omg my poor babies, as a CHAD major let me lay it out for you.

Occasional “im human and im frustrated” yelling happens. Those are usually followed by apologies and genuine effort not to do that again.

But if your parent/guardian is always SCREAMING at you, especially as a way to control or make you feel inferior (insults, threats, things they know make you subdue and guilty) THIS IS EMOTIONAL ABUSE. if they are purposely contorting your emotions as a method to control that is abuse.

If someone hits, kicks, slaps, or beats you (not just a gentle nonsexual spank on the butt) THIS IS PHYSICAL ABUSE, ESPECIALLY IF IT LEAVES A BRUISE, CUT ABRAISION, ETC.

If adults are making you dance in a manner to be sexual, do sexual things, or watch sexual things inappropriate for your age THIS IS SEXUAL ABUSE. it is not always touching your/someone else’s private areas (which is ALSO abuse.)

If your parent or guardian is depriving you of things that are essential for life (food, water, shelter, weather appropriate clothes, hygiene, medical) and it is not just a “we are literally too broke to get these things but im really trying ” THIS IS NEGLECT AND IS ABUSE.

Talk to a teacher or trusted adult. Anyone in a human service setting (educators, administration, health, etc) especially those in a child/ adolescent arena are MANDATED REPORTERS: they MUST tell CPS there is a problem. If you are in immediate danger be explicit: they will call 911 to keep you safe.

This is SO fucking important please be safe my peeps.

Here I was, thinking I was well versed in what counted as abuse. Did not realise the yelling was abuse. I figured that was normal seeing as that’s what I grew up with. I mean, I knew my mom yelling at me, my siblings, and my dad (and now her fiancé) was what most likely caused me to have panic attacks around loud noise, but I just figured it was because it was a negative thing that my brain severely misinterpreted. Well then. Time to re-evaluate everything I know.

Well then

Wait is it not normal to get yelled at multiple times a week??

It’s not. I honestly think a lot of parents need to take a class in effective communication.

Actually, no, all of them do, not only so they’ll yell at their kids less, but so they will recognize it when somebody else is emotionally abusing their children.

(I speak as a victim of abuse by a coach, which my parents didn’t recognize as abuse…)

.. bro

I have a question. What about saying certain things? Like, recently I was asking my parents some questions and they kept refusing to answer (I can give context if someone really wants it) so I walked away because I was getting so frustrated that I could feel myself about to cry (I’m a frustrated crier, and yes it makes me more frustrated) and my dad said something along the lines of “yeah why don’t you just stomp off to your room and pout”

It made me extra frustrated because I was just trying to leave the situation and it felt like he was making fun of me for it. Is this normal??

Emotional Manipulation

They are actively holding information from you and berating you for feeling emotions that are normal to feel in that situation

my best friend in high school who has remained one of my best friends to this day (and is honestly more like family) lived in a home where she was seriously emotionally abused by her father and mother. I also dated someone whose sisters were seriously emotionally abused at home.

here are some of the things I’ve learned from having an almost-sister (she lived with us while she tried to become an emancipated minor, unfortunately her request for emancipation was denied by our Ministry of Children and Family Development/ child services) and a partner who survived emotional abuse:

1) Most people can’t recognize emotional abuse regardless of whether they themselves or someone else is going through it. Most people won’t recognize that someone is being emotionally abused even while they are seeing it happen directly in front of them.

2) Relatedly: most people do not believe emotional abuse victims when they say “I’m a victim of abuse,” and most people will try to justify emotionally abusive behaviour, or suggest that emotional abuse is somehow not as serious as physical or sexual abuse. Emotional abuse is not less traumatic than physical or sexual abuse.

3) Most physical and sexual abusers are also emotional abusers. But beyond that: most physical and sexual abusers start out as emotional abusers and work their way up to physical and sexual abuse. My friend/ sister’s father started physically abusing her once she’d turned 18. He started physically abusing her mother sometime when she was a child, but it didn’t start right away.

Not all emotional abusers become physical or sexual abusers. But if you have spent a long time being victimized emotionally, it will make it harder for you to have the will to leave an abusive relationship once the abuse becomes physical. Abusers know this. They often consciously start a campaign of emotional abuse long before they move onto physical abuse.

Please: if you think there’s a chance you’re being emotionally abused, get out when you can. Check it out with an objective third party (NOT someone who knows and is friends with the person you think is abusing you, as they will likely minimize the abuse if it is present), and then do what you can to get out before there’s a chance that (a) the abuse will worsen and cause you further trauma/ make you more susceptible to abuse than you already are or (b) wind up leading to physical or sexual harm.

4) Being raised or present in a home where anyone is being emotionally abused or physically abused makes you an emotional abuse survivor. Even if you never experience the violence directly, witnessing abuse affects your brain, trauma-wise, in the same way that being abused does. Even if at some point you became an emotional abuser as well at some point, you are still both a victim and an abuser.

(Something that is tragically common in families in which one parent or child or only certain children are singled out for abuse, is that the non-abused children will often become party to the abuse, as children conclude subconsciously that the only way to remain unvictimized by the abuser(s) is to collaborate with them. Because children’s brains are so vulnerable while developing, witnessing abuse as a child causes deep trauma in a way that it might not traumatize an adult, depending on how resilient the adult is).

5) The bar for proving emotional abuse in court is impossibly high. Most victims/ survivors of emotional abuse never are emancipated from their abusers or receive any kind of justice through the legal system. This is true of all abuse survivors, generally, but a smaller percentage of emotional abuse victims receive legal recognition of what they’ve been through and are empowered to leave their abusers or take out restraining orders against them by government ministries or the court system.

This has been a lot of text, but I have one thing left to say: 

Please, please believe abuse survivors. When someone says they’ve been emotionally abused, please believe them.

I wish I had this info when I was growing up. Please... Please believe us.

Toodle-ooh, Cheeto Man. We won’t miss youuu! 

Do not celebrate Columbus Day. He was a monster that for some fucking reason, we decided to celebrate. Support and send love to the Indigenous People, and hope the government will get their heads out of their asses and treat them like the humans they are.

I’m posting spooky comics all month long on my Patreon!

HOOOOOOO!

Just read it. Not gonna say anything. Just read it.

An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.

It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.

It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.

It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.

As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.

Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.

“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”

She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.

The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.

That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.

“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.

It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.

Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.

The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.

“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”

The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”

When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.  

“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”

Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.

this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.

i had to

I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE

Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.

Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins

I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.   Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.  Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart

In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.  Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.  Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.

They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives. 

P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.

the last lines of the show:

demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?

anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.

demon: then why?

anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.

demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.

anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!

honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗

that addition is a+ :)

THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS

I’ve stumbled across this before, and I love it so much

I still love this

at the end of the movie todd becomes an angel and you can tell me otherwise but i won listen

I can’t believe it’s back!

hi i’m seeing no one talk about this cover??? this is HAUNTING, it’s dedicated it to everyone who’s died from the coronavirus so far especially healthcare staff i just,,,

Hozier singing trad song “The Parting Glass”

Other celebrities: (goopily drip upon, of all things, “imagine”)

Us: (call for the guillotine)

Hozier: (a bittersweet lad, sings an ancient song to the departed)

Us: play this over silent, crisply shot black and white footage of the empty streets and silent landmarks. cut with shots of our drowning hospitals. An acceptable future documentary of 2020 that we will allow.

My audio processing isnt working in the brain. Can someone PLEASE tell me what the crud he’s saying because all i can make out are sounds not words

Saw your post while skimming through the reblog and did not see an answer, so for accessibility!  Hozier is singing the following:

Of all the money that e’er I had / I spend it in good company

And of all the harm that e’er I done / Alas it was to none but me

For all I’ve done for want of wit / to memory now I can’t recall

So fill to me the parting glass / good night and joy be with you all.

Of all the comrades that e’er I had / they’re sorry for my going away

And of all the sweethearts that e’er I had / they’d wish me one more day to stay

But as it falls unto my lot / that I must go and you must not

I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call / good night and joy be with you all.

A fitting tribute to those who lost against Covid. Fare thee well.

Gorillas are magnificent, majestic creatures full of grace and beauty… except when it rains. 

(Source)

When I forget my umbrella and it suddenly rains. 🌧️🌧️🌧️🦍😉

You’re welcome

[Narrator: A scientist in Peru [pause for peep] captured this, escaping from the tiny body [pause for peep] of a sleeping hummingbird. [pause for peep] A high-pitched [pause for peep] but unmistakable snore. [pause for peep] Hummingbirds are loved for their beauty and speed [pause for peep] but this one was behaving a little bit like a human. [pause for peep] The perfect cute-response trigger.]

@todorokitops @sergeantpurrito

ohmygod baby @kaijuno look

Oh my goodness.... This is the cutest little thing I've ever seen! Did you know birds can snore?

welp. i was THISCLOSE to posting an adolescent “i hate everything” post… and then i saw this.

Day MADE!!!! LMAO!!!!!

This is too hilarious not to share. Ahhh... Nothing like a good laugh to save the day. Lol

When the whole party is down but your bard is up

jack had absolutely no right to go this hard

Jack literally always goes this hard. He lives there. 

Rock on, you fucking Legend.

Amsterdam is turning rainbow for a visit of the Russian president Putin. The council of the city of Amsterdam has decided to hang out the gay pride flag on all council owned buildings and offices, in protest to Russia’s new anti-gay law.

there’s several of these as well;

pretty sure Amsterdam is now the sass capital of the world

ragingdarcy:

Really though it was great 

It’s one of those moments in which I do love my country

IM SO PROUD 

I love my adopted country so much.

shocking

*ahem*

from this post 

Comedian Phil Hartman was murdered by his wife on May 27th 1998

NFL player Steve McNair was murdered by his girlfriend on July 4th, 2009

John Wayne Bobbitt had his penis cut completely off on June 23rd, 1993

Travis Alexander was murdered by Jodi Arias on June 4th, 2008

Andrew Bagby was murdered by Shirley Jane Turner on November 6th, 2001 (She later murdered their 1 year-old son on August 18th, 2003)

Brenda Spencer killed two and injured nine at Cleveland Elementary School on January 29th, 1979

Laurie Dann killed one boy and injured five others at Hubbard Woods Elementary School on May 20th, 1988

Jennifer San Marco killed eight people at Goleta postal facility on January 30th, 2006

Sylvia Seegrist killed three and injured seven during a shooting spree at a Springfield mall on October 30th, 1985

Mary Ann Holder killed five children including her own son in Pleasent Gardens, NC on November 20th, 2011

Jullian Robbins killed one and injured two at Penn State on September 17th, 1997

Heather Smith killed two then committed suicide at Spanaway Junior High School on November 26th, 1985

Latina Williams killed two others then self at Louisiana Technical College on February 8th, 2008

Amy Bishop Anderson killed three and wounded three others at the University of Alabama on February 12th, 2010

What’s most interesting though is that mainstream media doesn’t even mention female shooters when they claim to show the history of the crime — but I guess they’re going by high scores. While its true that most shooting sprees are committed by males, it is also truethat most child abuse, neglect, and murders are committed by females.

Women who killed or attempted to kill children in the news, past 30 days (US):

Women who killed or attempted to kill children in the news between January and April 2014 (US):

This is only mid-year and I didn’t even include the reports of mothers killing their children from previous years or other countries.”

The only thing “shocking” here is how far you’ve managed to cram your head up your own ass.

This post is disturbingly long.

REBLOG THE SHIT OF THIS. I AM SO FUCKING SICK OF PEOPLE TREATIG WOMEN LIKE INNOCENT GODDESS WHO NEVER DO ANYTHING WRONG WHILE THEY TREAT ALL MEN LIKE ANIMALS.

I debated on whether or not to reblog this but damn those sources are a fucking feat and pretending that they dont exist erases the victims.

once in a blue moon someone on tumblr will acknowledge anyone other than a man has done something wrong

if your feminism involves overlooking crimes by women then it isn’t feminism

if your feminism involves overlooking crimes by women then it isn’t feminism

breaking news

all human beings have the capacity for evil regardless of gender

People commit crimes….regardless of gender….

Gender does not excuse you from the wrong you’ve done nor does it erase your ability to do wrong.

I don’t understand how people still think this way, but women are JUST as, if not more so, as dangerous and deadly as men. Just because you have a uterus does not mean you are incapable of doing violent actions. 

“I was like an ‘incel’ kid.  I’d never had a girlfriend.  I’d only had sex with prostitutes.  I was very suicidal.  Then one day I was standing next to a cute girl at a bus stop, and I googled: ‘How to approach women.’  That’s when I came across a forum for pick-up artists.  It’s exactly what I’d been looking for.  It seemed like a cure for my autism.  I watched all the videos I could find.  I started working out at a gym.  I’d spend all day approaching women.  Soon I was only hanging out with other pick-up artists.  They respected me.  They wanted to learn from me.  Finally there was something I was good at.  Right now I have over one thousand numbers in my phone.  It’s a bit like gambling.  Sometimes it goes well.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  But you always have the chance for sex.  There are so many tricks to learn.  Women have emotional brains.  They get addicted to feelings.  You can use that to your advantage.  The first time you meet her, tell her she looks amazing.  But never give her a full compliment again.  She’ll always chase that validation.  It’s like a drug.  Tell her ‘she looks beautiful for her age.’  Tell her ‘she looks good in this lighting.’  Keep her insecure with half compliments.  Keep her feeling like there’s something wrong with her.  Like she’s not good enough for you.  Like she needs sex for validation.  Of course it’s manipulation, but why should I care?  I’ve been manipulated so many times in my life.” (Amsterdam, The Netherlands)

Wow... As a person who is in a serious relationship with someone on the autistic spectrum, lemme say this: it pisses me off when people use their mental issues as an excuse for their bad behavior. This guy treats women like their warm holes for his dick, and said being a pick-up artist helped his autism. Fuck that. He's a piece of shit.

Indie Game Spotlight:  Best Friend Forever

This week’s Indie Game Spotlight is too doggone cute. Best Friend Forever is the world’s first simulation game to combine pet care and dating (just not necessarily at the same time – we need to be real clear about that). Adopt and pet the pups, date and pet the humans. What’s not to love?

We spoke with Calliope Ryder, game runner and marketing human at Starcolt. In her hybrid creative/production/marketing role, some days she is storyboarding and directing trailers, and others she’s considering whether it’s okay for our dog-themed socks to have buttholes on them. Let’s jump into it!

How does the game balance taking care of a dog with the dating sim aspect?

BFF is a different type of dating sim—instead of raising the stats of yourself or a date, you’re raising the stats of your adopted Best Friend, so the ‘upskilling’ revolves around your dog. The game is split between dates and Dog Quality Time (DQT), where you train, care for, and schedule activities with your pup to change those stats. 

Your dog also comes along to whatever dates you go on and hangs out in the corner (we’ve lovingly called that our Dogagotchi). Not picking up a poop, for example, will result in a rather unimpressed date, whereas a well-behaved pup is a great wing-dog. The main star of the show is really your puppy, whereas the story is influenced by connections with humans.

Who are some characters we can expect to romance?

A favourite of mine has gotta be Anders because he’s handsome, flirty, and has commitment issues. Astrid is a competitive dancer and ice skater with some serious Ariana Grande vibes, up to and including the Big Ponytail. She’s secretly into occult stuff, too. The team had come up with an amazing cast of diverse characters before I even joined Starcolt, and they’re all incredible and extremely datable. 

From a charge nurse who moonlights as a gaming streamer to a giant-dork-wanna-be-P.I. who listens to way too much true crime, we’re confident there’ll be someone for everyone!

What did the team enjoy creating the most? 

We’re a bunch of children, so it’s got to be the ‘Dogagotchi’—whether it’s farting, pooping, or doing a happy dance because you petted it, having a tiny mischievous animated dog is a delight. We certainly didn’t expect to be designing poop mechanics when we got into games, but here we are. In the poop.

Are there any dogs in the game that were inspired by a team member’s furry friend?

Inspired by our dream pets! The game is made for people like us—millennials who can’t own real-life dogs (renting, am I right?) and want to pour all that love into a virtual best friend. However, we have based some dogs on famous Extremely Good IRL boys and girls, so look out for them as you’re playing through!

Want to find your new BFF? You’ll be able to pat your dog all day on Nintendo Switch, or through Steam and Itch.io on PC, and because we’re all romantics at heart, it’s releasing on Valentine’s Day 2020 (that’s the 14th of February, folks)!

Hey y’all, please look at this game! Consider wishlisting it on Steam and be ready for all the cuteness this coming Valentine’s Day!

... Something tells me this game isn't going to be as sweet as they claim. The questions they're posting in the game are kind of dark... Like what would relax you to death and so on.... Is this gonna be like Doki Doki literature club?

About to eat my first weed brownie

It’s this what being high feels like, I’m laughing for no Reason

Never again I will eat this shit.. took me to the hospital

I eat 4 of this fucking brownies and it fucked me up badly 

Lmaooooo I’m sorry but I’m screaming.

why did u eat 4?????

i was hungry 

I, sadly, have done this to myself. They just tasted so good and the high took so long to get going! I was high for 2 days STRAIGHT. 

Run Home - Chapter 1 - Opening Pitch

Dragon Age - Little League AU | The Iron Bull x f!Lavellan | Chapter Rating - T | Read it on AO3 | Next Chapter

Dust Lavellan is pretty happy with her life - she tends bar at The Siren’s Call, sleeps with whoever she wants, and isn’t responsible for anyone’s life but her own. At least, until some random kid stumbles out in front of her motorcycle one afternoon. A kid with a really hot dad… 

 The Iron Bull never expected to be a dad, let alone a single dad with an adopted ‘Vint kid, but it’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Sure his sex life is a little limited, what with raising a kid, coaching a Little League team, and working full time. Until he comes home and finds a really hot elf eating cookies on the porch with his kid… 

Eleven year old Cremisius “Krem” Aclassi wants two things - his Little League team to go to the World Series, and to grow up to be a chef. Okay, three things: he’d really like his dad to be slightly less of a huge dork around his new friend Dust. Why are grown ups like this? Can’t they just kiss and get it over with already?

Chapter Summary: Krem meets pavement, Dust meets Krem.

When the boy stumbles out in front of her bike, Dust is endlessly grateful that she’s tooling along a little under the speed limit for a change. She likes cutting through residential neighborhoods sometimes - there’s an area near her apartment that’s firmly lower middle class, and she likes it a lot. Even though she can’t afford to live there, she admires the small gardens, the neat houses, and the variety of cars; older models that are well cared for, with an occasional classic car someone is lovingly restoring. One house in particular is her favorite - it’s a soft sky blue with pink trim, which ought to make it utterly ridiculous but somehow just works. The front lawn is small, but the area in front of the porch is a veritable riot of colorful flowers. Rose bushes border each side of the lawn in every shade imaginable.

She’s just one block past the The Cottage, as she thinks of it, when a kid stumbles into the street and falls over right in front of her fucking bike. She brakes, swerves, and nearly puts her bike down but manages to stop and avoid hitting the kid or any parked cars. Adrenaline pumps so hard through her system that her skin hurts, her pulse beating wildly in what feels like every inch of her body. Once she’s fully stopped she turns to glare at the kid - first she’s going to get him out of the street, yell at him, then find his parent and yell even louder at them.

“Are you out of your fucking mind kid?” She knows she probably shouldn’t be swearing and shouting, but Mythal’s tits it was terrifying. Turning off her bike, she shoves the kickstand down with intent before dismounting, boots crunching on the pavement. Pulling her helmet off, she holds it under her arm, mostly to give herself something to hold on to in order to hide her shaking hands.

“I’m sorry!” The kid sounds miserable, and details begin sinking in past the barrier of fear, anger, and adrenaline. Oh shit. He has the makings of one void of a shiner, a split lip, a bloody nose, and seems to be struggling to stand up. Now that the sound of her own blood isn’t rushing like thunder in her own ears, she can hear footsteps taking off at speed. When she turns in the direction of the noise, it’s just in time to see a group of kids turning around a street corner. The temptation to go after them and put the fear of Elgar'nan into them is strong, but vengeance must come after mercy.

“Hey.” Dust walks toward the boy slowly, dropping her voice to something a lot less angry and intimidating, squatting down a couple feet away and setting her helmet on the ground when he doesn’t bolt. She’s total shit with figuring out children’s ages, especially if they aren’t elves, but she thinks this one is maybe nine or ten. His skin is darker than most Fereldans, and his brown eyes have the caution of a kid who’s seen shit and knows that adults are sometimes a lot more hurtful than helpful. It’s like a fist in the gut to think she might have contributed to that look. “Hey I’m sorry I yelled, I was just really scared. Let’s get you up and out of the road. Is it okay if I touch you to help you up?”

He considers her for a minute, and she keeps her gloved hands planted firmly on her knees, waiting for permission. Then he nods and holds out a hand. She takes it with one of her own, standing up slowly and supporting as much of his weight as he needs. Since he’s wearing shorts, she can see that both his knees are bloody and the right one is kind of swollen. Vengeance is sounding better and better, but she shoves down the anger, knowing it won’t help. Other than the effects of getting beaten up, he looks like a pretty healthy kid, sturdy and well fed, and his clothes are good quality, even if there’s blood and dirt on them.

“Look, I know your parents have probably told you not to talk to strangers, but I really want to make sure you get home safe, and I have a first aid kit in my bike. I’d like to patch you up a bit so they don’t freak out when they see you.”

“Pop won’t freak out. It’s okay.” He fists at his nose, trying to wipe away some stray blood, and she itches to grab his hand and pull it away before he makes things worse. Instead she gives him a long, speculative look, because that kind of statement could mean a lot of things, from “I’m lying through my teeth and I am in deep shit” to “my parents just don’t give a fuck” and a lot of ground in between.

“I’ll take your word for that, but how about you do me a favor and let me do my good deed for the year, okay? Get back on the sidewalk and I’ll park my bike.” Dust jerks her chin in the direction of the walkway and waits to see which way the kid jumps. He’s got a damn good poker face, especially for a kid. She wants to ask if his “pop” helped him develop that face, but it’s not the kind of question a kid that cagey is gonna answer - that she knows based on personal experience. Finally he gives a little nod and limps over to the sidewalk.

With a sigh of relief she finds a free section of curb to park her bike, grateful that it’s not rush hour, and most of the day walkers are still at work. Flipping open one of her saddlebags, she digs out her first aid kit, stowing her gloves in its place. The kid is waiting for her on the sidewalk, and his left eye is beginning to swell shut.

“My name’s Dust Lavellan. You can tell me yours, or I can keep calling you kid, either one works for me.”

“Cremisius Aclassi. You can call me Krem.” 

Keep reading

Do you like Krem? Do you like The Iron Bull? Do you like female characters of color with personalities that don’t revolve around their love interests, and also when people skewer crappy fandom tropes? Or do you just love inappropriate baseball puns and dick jokes? Either way, you should read my fic, and also reblog it so other people read it because I’m a writer and we crave attention like air.

This is an awesome fanfic. Read it. Even if you don’t know the source... it’s that good.