swanjolras:

like tbh i feel like my problem with the “dark and gritty!!” trend in modern stories is this

there’s this idea in our culture that cynicism is realistic? that only children believe in happy endings, that people are ultimately selfish and greedy and seeing with clear eyes means seeing the world as an awful place

that idealism is— easy, i guess. butterflies and sunshine and love are easy things to have in your head.

but i’ve known since i was fifteen that idealism— faith in humanity— optimism— is the most difficult thing in the entire world.

i constantly struggle to have faith in humanity, because it’s really, really easy to lose it. it’s easy to look at the news and go “what were you expecting? of course humans behave this way.” it’s easy to see the world and go “ugh, there’s no hope there.” and the years when i believed that were easy. miserable— but easy.

it is hard work to see the good in people. it is hard work to hope. it is hard work to keep faith and love and joy and appreciation for beauty in my daily life.

and when moviemakers and tv producers and writers go “omg!!! all characters are selfish and act poorly and don’t love each other, nothing ever happens that is happy or good, that’s so much more realistic, that’s so much more adult”

no, it’s not

it’s childish.

it’s the most childish thing i can imagine.

(Reblogged from theonewhoisnottall)

papershopprojects:

huffingtonpost:

HERE’S WHAT ‘YELLOW FEVER’ REALLY MEANS

"All my ex-girlfriends are Asian."

If you’ve ever come across this charming come-on, you’ve probably been exposed to yellow fever

For her full rant watch the video here.

YES, THERE IS NOW A MUCH NEEDED GIF SET FOR THIS!

(Reblogged from lpsc00l)

minim-calibre:

theladymonsters:

magesmagesmages:

sounds-simple-right:

badscienceshenanigans:

kbdownie:

thegingermullet:

Did they ever reveal how Captain America was thawed? Because I’m picturing a bunch of Shield agents with hair dryers and I don’t think that’s quite right.

I don’t think they’d want to microwave him so hair dryer is really the only remaining option. That’s how I’d do it.
badscienceshenanigans
Do you have a sciency way to accomplish this task?


Well, let’s see. 

To thaw a 1.5 metric ton colossal squid frozen in a block of ice (the only way the fishermen who trawled the thing in could bring it home before it went bad), scientists put it in a big vat of brine just above 0 Celsius/32F. That allowed the fresh water to melt while still keeping the squid as cold as possible. Essential, since for a giant corpse with tentacles, certain parts are bound to thaw days before others and could become quite rotten before the rest comes out of the ice block if you’re not careful. 

HOWEVER Captain America was still alive, which complicates things. On the other hand, even supersoldiers are significantly smaller than this record-setting colossal squid. This helps thaw logistics somewhat.

Much like the squid, Captain America would have to be kept at a consistent temperature throughout his body in order to be thawed successfully. If his extremities were to thaw more than a minute or two before his heart and lungs were thawed and reactivated, the tissue wouldn’t have any oxygen and would quickly die. What a shame to bring back Steve Rogers only to have him be the poster boy for gangrene. Brain tissue becoming metabolically active before the cardiovascular system began functioning would be even more disastrous— possible permanent brain damage. 

And the GH-325 project was born

To keep his temperature as equal as possible across his entire body, something like the squid brine or (more likely) an antifreeze solution would be used. Immerse the Capsicle in brine until the entire unit is within a degree or two of thawing* to begin Phase II.

*Note that due to presence of salts, fats, protein, etc, the freezing point of meat is actually 28-29F. Apologies to non-US readers, sadly I only work with American meat and don’t know the freezing point of corpses/beef in Sane Country Units. That being said, Steve Rogers is 100% American meat. Fahrenheit shall be considered the appropriate unit for this project. 

At the thawing point, it’s important to consider life support functions. I don’t know how fast human tissue uses up oxygen at refrigerator-range temperatures, but I’m going to assume that the sooner you have oxygen circulating the better. A heart-lung machine would be needed to oxygenate and move the blood around for a while before the heart gets started back up. 

Meanwhile, because Captain America’s last un-frozen moments were spent deep underwater, there may be decompression issues at play. Whatever gas bubbles may have been present in his tissue are currently frozen in place, but when he thaws they can move about and create embolisms —> the bends. Better put him in a hyperbaric chamber just in case. 

Since Captain America regained consciousness in a recovery room rather than during the thaw process, it may be safe to assume that he was sedated and/or placed in a drug-induced coma during thaw. 

So at this point we’ve got a giant bathtub of brine, a heart-lung machine, oxygen canisters, lots of drugs, plus all the necessary monitoring equipment all inside a hyperbaric chamber. After thawing the antifreeze bath could be replaced with gradually warming water or saline solution in order to bring Captain America back up to normal body temperature. So many machines! This is US medicine at its finest.

Forced warm air blowers (hairdryers) are needed after Captain America is fully thawed, organ systems are reactivated, and he is brought back to normal body temperature. At this point it becomes necessary to dry and style Captain America and put him in period-appropriate jammies to sleep it off in a vintage hospital room. If you think hearing the wrong baseball game tipped him off fast, you should see him wake up with bad hair. 

image

THIS IS THE BEST POST IN THE HISTORY OF EVERYTHING.

That being said, Steve Rogers is 100% American meat. Fahrenheit shall be considered the appropriate unit for this project. 

CANNOT STOP LAUGHING.

(Reblogged from roadtoeldesi)

yukulele:

ninjkabat:

the-fury-of-a-time-lord:

THIS VIDEO MAKES ME SO ANGRY

This sounds a lot like The Cure.

And I’m digging that.

1) “I just wanna get you high”

2) dat fuckin ending

2) nice, everything nice

(Reblogged from siriex)

coversongs1:

Love this cover.

(Reblogged from coversongs1)
Played 4,033,677 times

captain-happy-paws:

amarriageoftrueminds:

incipientt:

blinding-eclips:

freecocaine:

The pure fact that this doesn’t even need a title or a description or anything speaks volumes. I mean look at the number of notes this has. There are so few people who don’t recognize it. And the song itself just gives you chills. It’s so magical.

image

image

image
image
image

^ THAT WAS MY EXACT REACTION

I swear to fucking god tumblr if this is another Spongebob pos-

Oh.

Oh…

(Source: alphageek2011)

(Reblogged from o-rcrist)

castielsguardianangel22:

convertiblemysterymachine:

Are we just not gonna talk about how great Sky High was? 

Because

image

It

image

Deserves

image

So

image

Much

image

More

image

Credit

image

Than

image

We’re

image

Currently

image

Giving

image

It

image

This movie is my guilty pleasure….. 

(Reblogged from pastalovesdoitsu)

Bridge Over Troubled Water covered by Eva Cassidy

(Reblogged from hellomynameismaddy)
Played 2,142,651 times

Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) (1983) Vs. Seven Nation Army (2003)

(Source: skeppsbrott-archive)

(Reblogged from lostthehat)

sometimesiwishiweremongolian:

eldochflamma:

syrisa:

eldochflamma:

syrisa:

nolikereally:

syrisa:

nolikereally:

napoldeinlove:

peredhel:

ha-leths:

i feel like the house of finwe just found a confused, crying, and lost little boy in the woods one day and decided to keep him and call him gil-galad

and thats why his parentage is so confusing because everyone claimed he was theirs 

that kind of makes it sound like he was Elured or Elurin haha

haha yeah that’s kind of NO NO THAT’S NOT OKAY THAT’S NOT OKAY

GET.

OUT.

Maedhros lied. Maedhros did find them. Both of them, for all the good it did Eluréd with his fragile neck broken where he’d fallen down a ravine trying to run from the Noldor who had been seeking him, trying to draw them away from where he had hidden tiny Elurín

They buried the child next to his parents, then Maedhros was left to ponder the still, crying creature he now had in his care. There were mental wounds too deep for their own healers to care for, and he doubted any child could survive the life that loomed before them both.

"We will send him to Balar," he decided at last, the child on his hip since placing Elurín down usually resulted in screaming and crying fits, and sometimes actual convulsions from the terror that chased after the child so young he was practically a babe.

It felt like acid though, returning to the thindar one of the family that had stolen and continued to deny them their birthright.

Ah but…

It galled Cirdan to receive a messenger from the Noldor at such a time as this. But the child clinging to the messenger’s chest, in a deep, Power induced sleep stilled his tongue and made him curious for the babe was wrapped in clothing speaking of wealth, and had a regal cast to his or her young features already.

"I have been charged with delivering this child to you," the messenger bowed deeply, "he is Gil-Galad, Scion of Kings. He is the only one left."

"Technically we told him who the child was," Maedhros said when the messenger returned successful.

"Save the name," Maglor reminded him.

"I merely thought it a terrible burden for a child to grow up named literally as the reminder of a once mighty king who ultimately became nothing more then a thief and a failure," Maedhros said, and turned away.

DID YOU FUCKING DO THIS ON PURPOSE YOU MONSTER

Oh gosh no. Golly not me, I never write angst. My hands slipped, that’s all.

image

SYRISA WHO ALLOWED YOU TO DO THIS

He remembered his father’s laughter.

And after that there was the woods, and darkness, and cold. And his brother (his brother?) left him behind, told him to hide in a tree and he would be back. But his brother (his brother?) never came back.

Cirdan asked him, once or twice before giving up, because really Gil-Galad’s memories were too fragmented to be coherent, and what was left was so tinged with horror it could make him shudder and scream to try and remember what had happened after his father’s laughter for very long.

“Perhaps Orodreth,” Cirdan suggested. That made sense, Gil-Galad thought, touching his silver hair, for Orodreth’s grandmother had been Teleri hadn’t she? And Orodreth had a daughter, it was said. Gil-Galad remembered having a sister, but not what had happened to her. He wondered perhaps if he had mixed things up, in his fright, and it was not his brother (his brother?) that had left him behind in the tree but his sister (his sister?).

That might make more sense.

His tutor Erestor said he had something of his face that resembled King Fingon.

The timing was off though, he was far too young to be Fingon’s child, and anyway the Noldor King had never married, nor had any known bastards.

Orodreth seemed the most likely candidate, but no one could ask him now.

Gil-Galad had his own theory; or perhaps his own desperately held secret. Or perhaps it was merely a yearning wish.

He could remember a warm arm around him, and curling his hands into hair that was the colour of a cheerful copper pot. He could remember his relief when his surprise had faded away, and reaching eagerly for the tall shining warrior that had reached back for him, whispering it was alright and he would protect him, that there was nothing to fear. He thought of the way that warrior chased the terror away, and held him close though he must have been a burden and an inconvenience.

Queen Míriel the Broideress was a Noldor of small stature, and unusually for her pedigree was of only Tatyarin descent, silver hair,” a creakily old history text that he read to please Erestor once said.

“Maedhros Fëanorion is my father,” Gil-Galad said to his mirror, still touching his silver hair.

To say it warmed him from the inside out, and a lingering memory of winter within a unending forest faded a little more to speak the words loud.

“I am Gil-Galad Maedhrosion,” he looked himself in the eye through the mirror, “I am the scion of Kings. I am the son of Maedhros once King of the Ňoldor, son of King Curufinwë Fëanor, son of King Finwë and Míriel the Broideress whose silver hair I bear.”

He tilted his chin at his reflection, then grinned at how haughty that had made him look.

He was still young yet, he had much more growing to do, that was what Cirdan said. Perhaps he might grow as tall as Maedhros was said to be.

“Maedhros Fëanorion is my father,” he said a final time.

It was more plausible than Fingon, and as plausible as Orodreth, or at least it was to him.

And it pleased him.

And it made him hope.

image

I think I’ve started caring about Gil a lot more thankyou and goodbye

(Source: halethrim)

(Reblogged from silentstep)