Shared posts

16 Aug 21:21

moonlandingwasfaked: sonneillonv: theoreocat: Sometimes it’s...




Sometimes it’s possible to have too much determination.

I was waiting for the payoff and I was NOT disappointed


13 Aug 15:44

babyanimalgifs: Animal snaps


Animal snaps

12 Aug 21:45

Scenes I need...








Peter Parker: -on meeting Loki, offers his hand- Hi, I’m Peter!

Loki: -shakes his hand- Loki of Asgard.

Peter: Aren’t you like…a bad guy?

Loki: It varies from moment to moment.

Peter: So like…on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst evil imaginable, like…killing puppies, and one being I’ll spit on your hotdog…where are you right now?

Loki: …maybe a three?

Peter: Cool. Lemme know if it gets above a six.

Loki: -thinking- I like him.

It had been a joke, a flippant line, but somehow, Loki found himself taking the youth up on it.

It was hard living around these heroic Avengers, hard trying to stay close to Thor. And when he felt his need for mischief rise too high, when he felt exasperation with these Midgardians turn too close to spite, he would casually say “Six.” to the young man, or sometimes “Seven.”

And Peter would spend the rest of his day with Loki. He would badger him with questions about magic, or drag him across his beloved city to see its entertainments, or take him along stopping petty crimes. He grounded Loki to the here and now, and distracted him from the churning, jagged shards of ice in his mind.


Stark’s brat had a system. It had been amusing, at first glance, especially when “killing puppies” was apparently a higher level of evil than trying to take over the world. It had risen and fallen - two, five, one. There were honestly good days.

It took some time before a truly bad day came up.

After a difficult battle, the Captain was being particularly sanctimonious, his team following suit. Even Stark made biting comments.

Loki could scream.

“Spider-man,” he said as calmly as he could. The young man glanced up, having been tying up some of their enemies a few yards away.


“… okay, guys, I’m going to head out with Loki for the rest of the day. Don’t need us for debrief, yeah?”

“Sure,” Stark shrugged, glancing between the two of them oddly. Loki wasn’t entirely sure what the plan was. They went in civilian clothes to a small café.

“I wasn’t paying attention, so whatever was said, I don’t agree,” Peter began. “But that’s not what I’m here for. So. When you teleport, how does that work? Is it harder with longer distances? Or is knowledge of the place more helpful?” Loki blinked, but explained. It led to a discussion of magical theory. Peter (Loki still called him Parker aloud, but the child and even his young friends grew on him in time) was eager and curious, comparing what he knew from Strange and fantasy books to Loki’s knowledge. It was admittedly fascinating to see how many versions of sorcery humans had created by mere imagination. He was definitely amused by the elves and dwarves of Lord of the Rings.

Sometimes Peter tentatively asked about Strange and Maximoff, if they were doing similar things. Never if Loki was at an 8 or above though.

“Strange is like a child prodigy. He’s good, picks the practical parts up well. He even got the jump on me - but he has not had as much time to study as me. He’s a student where I am a master. Maximoff is incredibly powerful and incredibly lucky, but she does not have much training at all.” Sometimes conversation turned to music, animals, current events.

Peter was good. It was odd, how Loki became so sure of the fact so quickly.

After the conversations, often accompanied with food or a walk, he was always down to a 3 or so. Which made Peter an important person.

So the next time Peter was in trouble and the Avengers were indisposed, Loki was not the least bit surprised that he was not the only one ready to tear someone apart for the kid. Two men in red - one with horns, one with guns and swords - a young girl with cat-shaped blasters on her hands, and the Captain’s assassin friend. Loki curled his lips and muttered:

“For anyone that harms you? 10.”


also, the fact we get Daredevil, Deadpool, Shuri, and James teaming up with Loki to protect Peter? I AM HERE FOR ALL THIS HELLS YES

(I thought I didn’t have anything to add but I do)

It was just after noon on a Saturday when Loki got a text from Peter, all it said was 

‘8, I’m at home′

Peter had never used their number system for himself before.

Loki had promised the boy’s aunt he would not teleport into their home and while he’d had every intention of honouring that promise, this was definitely an exception.

When Loki materialized in Peter’s room, his friend was pacing, angry and red-faced. Loki had never seen Peter furious before.

Peter began shouting when he saw Loki, ‘Men are scum! Irredeemable, horrible, crappy, scummy scum!’

‘Thank you for telling me, Peter.’ Loki said, sitting down on Peter’s bed. ‘Any particular men inspiring this diatribe?’

Peter grabbed a pillow off his bed and screamed into it, ‘There’s a guy at Aunt May’s work who’s harassing her and she says I need to stay out of it and let Human Resources do their jobs and he’s a creep and he’s making May feel creeped out and… I don’t know what to do.’

Loki blinked. Of all the people Peter could have gone to, he had chose Loki.

‘Thank you, for telling me this. Although I’m not sure how I can be of help.’

Peter flopped down onto the bed next to Loki, ‘You’re my friend and you’re an adult. And I wasn’t sure who else to talk to.’

Loki flopped back next to Peter, it seemed appropriate. ‘If Human Resources doesn’t sort this out to your satisfaction, I can turn this person into a goat.’

Peter giggled, ‘An ugly, stupid goat?’

‘Any kind of goat you like,’ Loki replied.

11 Aug 23:25

Miniature Calendar UpdateJapanese artist Tanaka Tatsuya creates...

by turecepcja

Miniature Calendar Update

Japanese artist Tanaka Tatsuya creates a miniature diorama for the daily calendar since 2011. He updates his calendar-website daily with a fresh and playful image, infused with his creative imagination. 

Keep in touch! Like Cross Connect on Facebook.

posted by tu recepcja

11 Aug 21:41


11 Aug 16:06

pukicho: Kids are just like “ppptppptppthhptpppthh” until one day they’re like “oh shit I can...


Kids are just like “ppptppptppthhptpppthh” until one day they’re like “oh shit I can think” and then it’s all downhill from there

08 Aug 22:59


08 Aug 01:07

Stay hydrated

Stay hydrated

07 Aug 21:11

optimysticals: charlesdances: Charles Dance fanboying about...



Charles Dance fanboying about Dame Judi Dench and Dame Maggie Smith

Queens of Awesome

06 Aug 17:51

fringe-element: tooiconic: cheetothecat: pr1nceshawn: Bad...





Bad Cats.

OP, you fool. These are THE BEST CATS

Stanley is so chaotic I love him


04 Aug 19:09

inkskinned: incog-nemo: glumshoe: You wake in the night with your arm hanging over the side of...




You wake in the night with your arm hanging over the side of your bed. It is still dark, and your bedroom is shrouded in deep shadow. Something unseen seizes your hand.

You grasp it tightly, knowing that first impressions are important and a firm, confident handshake will establish dominance.

A hollow voice echos under your bed, shaking you to your core, “You’re hired.”

my dad has been riding me for, like ever. get a job, ash. like, okay but. have you even heard of summer. plus i’m tired. plus i literally don’t want to do anything but wear a rainbow bikini and bake on beaches. 

“i’m serious,” he says, in Serious Voice, his hand on the door handle with white knuckles. “you can’t waste your time like this.”

“ugh,” i say, because, like ugh. he slams the door. i bury my face in pillows and like, “ugh” for a solid thirty second, limbs spread akimbo all over the place. without meaning to, i fall asleep. i told you i was tired, dad.

i don’t know what happens. maybe it’s all those times i had to stand in his office pretending to be official in white shoes and a pink skirt but when somebody grasps my hand, i grasp back. like lizard-brain response, i’m still half-asleep when i’m full-on up-and-down single-pump professional-style handshaking a demon. by the time i have bolted upright in bed and retracted my now-sticky (yet somehow also soggy?) hand, the voice is already speaking.

“you’re hired.”

excuse me? “I’m what now?” my voice in comparison is weak, slippery with sleep and fear, dancing all over the place.

i hear something shift under me. my heart is caught in my throat while there’s chuckles from the owner of the handshake equivalent of squeezing a taco bell meal. i’m having flashbacks to french kissing h.p. lovecraft in a bathroom in high school grade and i’ve never even done that. 

“i’ll have to look at your references, obviously, but that’s a hell of a handshake. i like you, kid.”

like but. for some reason, a giggle rises in my throat. like okay. like. this is normal. i’m like. it figures there’d be something under my bed. like, with how much time i spent in the closet? who am i to even, like, judge.

“of course, orientation will be difficult,” the taco bell meal tentacle continues, “but you wouldn’t be the first we’ve hired like you.”

“like me?” like a woman or a gay woman or like a gay woman who’s really good at making hot cocoa or like

“a human,” taco bell says.

i’m actually almost awake now. like i’m pretty sure i’m awake and i’m talking to the CEO of creepy, incorporated. certified possible demon. sock eating friend of cerberus. 

for a second i’m about to call for my dad but then i remember those white knuckles around the door handle and my white shoes and how much gas money is and how he once made me shake hands for an hour but didn’t give me a hug for the next four years.

i clear my throat. like, abuela told us about devils since she was old enough to threaten me with them and like technically i can’t “commune with spirits” but i also know enough not to upset a creature like this so i figure it’s in my best interests to take this in stride and maybe tomorrow throw a little bit more salt over my shoulder than usual. and like, i mean, at this point it’s just negotiating right. and if there’s something i understand from dad it’s negotiating business. 

“hours?” i ask, sitting up straighter. i can’t see more than a writhing something that barely extends beyond the edges of my bedframe.

“night shift, obviously.”


“competitive.” a pause. “lucrative, even.”

well like. what else is there. “i’m in.” 

“wonderful,” says taco bell, expressing with an accent i’m unfamiliar with and a form of joy that i’m uncomfortable with, “i’ll go get the contract. be back in a jiffy.”

like, the sound of hell opening up isn’t exactly a slurp-pop, but it does sound a lot like the way my seventh grade math teacher’s tongue used to sound when she was about to make a harsh comment about my homework. and like, for a second there i’m like. wait what the fuck did i just agree to am i in a horror movie is chucky gonna be my roommate now like does dracula sign my contract as a witness like am i really doing this. like? i’m a smart girl (don’t look at my love life) how am i even considering this.

it’s also when my dad opens my door. “ash?” even when he’s just woken up, he looks tidy. he’s wearing his wingtip shoes. never slippers on this man.

i’m like. coming around to my senses at this point. i hallucinated all that. i ate too many crackers with cream cheese and guava before bed. i listened to too many of abuela’s supernatural sightings. and like, i told you, i’m tired.

“dad,” i say, blinking in the light from the hallway.

“you were talking in your sleep, ” he says.

“oh,” i say.

“it is keeping me awake,” he says.

“sorry,” i say.

“you know i am a light sleeper,” he says.

“yeah,” i say, “sorry.”

“please control yourself,” he says.

“yeah … i… okay.” i say. “sorry again.”

“goodnight, ash,” he says, and he turns to go. he looks back at me and says “and ash?” and for a second, because i always have this moment, because i never learn, because i’m not a good learner, for a second i’m thinking - oh, he’s gonna say something nice, “in the morning, please get a job.”

“yeah,” i say, and my voice cracks and the door closes, “sorry again.”

i sit there, staring at the wall, saying nothing for a long time, or maybe no time at all. thinking about nothing. like the feeling you get when you’re thinking too much so it all just sounds like white noise.

then i hear it again. the crack-slurp of hell. i jump about like twelve feet. when i return from the space station my soul ascended to, i see the barely-defined outline of something, like the leg of an insect outside of a tentacle inside of a crab leg outside of the right back support beam of the eiffel tower. and like, a sphere of dull green light radiates directly above it, which, like, isn’t even the weirdest part of my night. 

“howdy!” taco bell nacho supreme is back, “sorry for the delay, i was checking with management.”

“uh,” i say. 

“just insert your hand into this here contract and you’ll be employed part-time, pending references.”

“hang on,” i say. i swallow. “you said the rate is… competitive?”

“we got wishes, monkey’s paws, souls, video game cheats… you name it, we pay it.”

“…. USD?” 

“666 an hour to start. we do love tradition.”

i choke. “like six dollars and sixty-six cents?”

taco bell laughs. “you know what i meant. and we do direct deposit!”

i swallow. i think of my dad. 

words tumbling out of me. “do i have to hurt anyone? is my soul forfeit? can i ever get out of this? am i gonna turn colors how many days a week do i work is there a retirement plan can i readjust the terms after signing is it permanent will it harm me in any way how many people die doing this when do i start what’s orientation who writes the checks and” i take a breath “is the boss nice?”

“no, no, yes! but two weeks notice. no, usually five, if you sign up for it, yes, no, probably not, not many people are doing it mostly we’re non-physical or extra-corporeal so you’d have to ask H.R? tomorrow if you want, loads of fun and free sushi, H.R again, and” taco bell takes a breath, “usually but particularly on wednesdays.”

i sit there and curl my knees to my chest. 

“all this… because of a handshake?”

taco bell is silent for a moment. well, like, kind of. if eerie silence had a twin brother, or like the silence of a fast food restaurant exactly four minutes before the lights are shut off.

“usually, we come if we’re called by darkness. we deal in darker things than needs. i don’t tend to show up when someone needs something. but sometimes… the lines get crossed, that’s all. instead of your need heading on upwards, it called me instead.”

“uh,” i say, “are you admitting to the existence of like… angels?”

anyway,” says taco bell, “yesterday Georurng self-terminated.”

“oh my gosh,” i say, “is he okay?”

“oh yeah, no, he retired to live with his six hivenests in west Berlin. we need new blood,” taco bell says. “of course, metaphorically.”

okay. okay. like. i could say i was bartending? in a few weeks i could buy a used car. out of pocket. like. if i needed to i could always quit. and like. honestly, again, how many chances to make closet jokes. plus, time at the beach. plus like. okay like how cool would it be.

“okay,” i whisper, “okay.” i try not to shake as i reach my hand out to the contract. it feels like dipping my hand into the inside of a cold turkey. i repress the shudder that runs up me.

in an instant, the specifics of my job write themselves over my eyes. they burn into the back of my brain. everything is spinning. 

“see you tomorrow!” taco bell is saying. i want to puke. my ears are ringing. i barely hear the portal to hell open again. 

the fire of the contract’s words fade slowly until i am staring into the dark again. it’s not what i expected. it actually appeals to my sense of justice. taco bell was right about being called by something. i’ve just agreed to be the thing that goes bump in the night. the one thing left against the people nobody else can fight. i’m gay dracula. i’m both a lesbian dementor and the boggart. i’m a rainbow-flag-flying boogeyman and i have a long list of people who i got a bone to pick with. 

it takes me a moment to realize i’m smiling. sorry, dad, i’m gonna be like. ultra mega tired. but i got a job. doing what? oh, nothing.

just being the creature that lives under your bed. when bad men have darkness, we come haunting. 

04 Aug 18:53

naramdil:I used to think it was important to have common interests with the person that you are in a...


I used to think it was important to have common interests with the person that you are in a relationship with but now I think it is more important to be similar in other aspects. like how kind you are. how you treat the people you care about, how you treat strangers. how you deal with anger. how you deal with pain. and not necessarily dealing with all these things the same way but being perseptive enough to understand what action each situation calls for. it’s important for both people to be on the same page about what that action should be. it’s important to me to have that kind of synchrony.

03 Aug 21:47

kabams: envy-is-my-enemy: labellabrianna: theslaybymic: Watch...

by susiethemoderator





Watch: Chika Okoro’s must-see TED Talk exposes the damaging effects of colorism.

Follow @this-is-life-actually

This is sad af.

I’m disgusted

I didn’t realize I wasn’t re blogging this every time I saw it, but I see it frequently and think about it often. Just yesterday I quoted it. I hope you all reblog this for others to see.

03 Aug 20:37

itscolossal:Vietnam’s Newly Opened Pedestrian Bridge Lifts...

03 Aug 20:03

oncesingingalways: Quality. Content.


Quality. Content.

03 Aug 01:29

Migaloo is a white adult male humpback whale, estimated to have...

Migaloo is a white adult male humpback whale, estimated to have been born in 1986. He was first spotted in 1991 passing through Byron Bay, New South Wales. Migaloo has been given extra protection due to his uniqueness; under government legislation, any vessel will be fined $16,500 if it comes within 500 meters of the white whale. (x)

It was thought that Migaloo was the only white whale in existence, but then an all-white humpback calf was spotted in 2011. In 2018, another white calf was seen swimming with its mother off the coast of New South Wales (seen below). Scientists theorize that Migaloo may be breeding, but more genetic testing is needed to confirm he’s the white calf’s father.

02 Aug 23:49

thefingerfuckingfemalefury: 11thousandkms: I don’t know...


Quite simple... He was using the bottle rockets to heat up the ramen that was inside of his speedo.




I don’t know about everyone else but personally I Have Questions

02 Aug 06:04




01 Aug 00:27

wouldthatcreationhadformedmeman: nobodybetterhavethisoneoriswear: hopelessromanticinspace: cryover...












Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

I have been waiting for this post all my life.

They are indeed purple,
But one thing you’ve missed:
The concept of “purple”
Didn’t always exist.

Some cultures lack names
For a color, you see.
Hence good old Homer
And his “wine-dark sea.”

A usage so quaint,
A phrasing so old,
For verses of romance
Is sheer fucking gold.

So roses are red.
Violets once were called blue.
I’m hugely pedantic
But what else is new?

My friend you’re not wrong
About Homer’s wine-ey sea!
Colours are a matter
Of cultural contingency;

Words are in flux
And meanings they drift
But the word purple
You’ve given short shrift.

The concept of purple,
My friends, is old
And refers to a pigment
once precious as gold.

By crushing up molluscs
From the wine-dark sea
You make a dye:
Imperial decree

Meant that in Rome,
to wear purpura
was a privilege reserved

For only the emperor!

The word ‘purple’,
for clothes so fancy,
Entered English
By the ninth century


Why then are voilets
Not purple in song?
The dye from this mollusc,
known for so long

Is almost magenta;
More red than blue.
The concept of purple
is old, and yet new.

The dye is red,
So this might be true:
Roses are purple
And violets are blue


While this song makes me merry,
Tyrian purple dyes many a hue
From magenta to berry
And a true purple too.

But fun as it is to watch this poetic race
The answer is staring you right in the face:
Roses are red and violets are blue
Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.

Hirple - To limp or walk awkwardly

Cirple - An old Scots word for the hindquarters of a horse

“Roses are red, violets are purple,

My boner for you has caused me to hirple.”

My, how romantic!


31 Jul 23:54


24 Jul 13:58

🐍🐍🐍From my new book Video Games and Pizza Parties, available now...




From my new book Video Games and Pizza Parties, available now on Kickstarter! -

23 Jul 21:06

merriweatherpostpaviliontshirt: merriweatherpostpaviliontshirt: C...


I flove chubby sphynx!!!

21 Jul 17:05

meleedamage: anais-ninja-bitch: meleedamage: loricameback: ...


I'm dyin' over Dick










how are there so many of these?

Now that I’ve got some dick, I’m off to bed. Nighty night

okay, so the question less “how is there so much dick in vintage comics” and more “how does melee have scans of all that dick?”

I collect dick pics. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

19 Jul 23:16


18 Jul 19:15

peopleareaproblem: whitebear-ofthe-watertribe: sirartwork: rebl...




reblog for noises


*dry food crunches*

Ridiculously small kitten: “Myam myam myam. Njam njam njam njam njam njam njam! Myam myam myam nyam nyam myam. Mmmam. Mrrrrram. Meep!”


13 Jul 20:35



I'm gonna have questions next time that I hear that phrase.

13 Jul 18:51


10 Jul 13:10

Your Cat Is Trying to Talk to You

Your Cat Is Trying to Talk to You:



[T]here’s not exactly a universal cat language when it comes to meows. Rather, as Bradshaw writes in his book, “a secret code of meows … develops between each cat and its owner, unique to that cat alone and meaning little to outsiders.” This was demonstrated in a 2003 study by Cornell researchers, documented in Bradshaw’s book, in which they recorded meows from 12 cats in five everyday scenarios. They then played those recordings to pet owners, and found that only the owners could correctly decipher the scenario in which the meow was recorded. So cat owners can tell with some accuracy what message their cat is trying to get across via its meows, whether it’s feed me or I’m bored or whatever else, but “each meow is an arbitrary, learned, attention-seeking sound rather than some universal cat-human ‘language,’” Bradshaw writes.


It’s true. Aster has a complex series of meows for different things. Most commonly used are “gimme a treat,” “play with me,” and “I want to go on the deck.”

He has another one for when I’m gone unexpectedly and he’s happy I’m back, and another that means “wake up!”

09 Jul 21:36

babyanimalgifs:This made my day


This made my day

06 Jul 03:38

bear-in-a-foxhole: brocchampton: fuck yall for cropping out...


<3 Cassie



fuck yall for cropping out cassie the bunny rabbit

The Shinsekis want to know.