“Brett pulled his tank top up over his head and stared at himself in the full-length mirror. He pushed down his jeans, then his boxers, and imagined the moment when Jennifer saw him nude for the first time. His feet were average-sized, and there was hair on his toes that he should probably take care of before tonight. He liked his legs just fine, but his thighs were wide and embarrassingly muscular. He tried standing at an angle, a twist at his waist. Some improvement. In that position, it was easier to see his ass and notice that it was not as pert as it had been at 22. He clenched both cheeks, hoping that tightened its look. He sucked in his tummy and pulled his pecs up high, trying to present them like pastries in a bakery window. Would she like him? Were the goods good enough? He pouted his lips and ran his hands over his thighs, masking their expanse. Maybe.”
“There is a particular look about a teenage boy that lets you know what kind of man he’ll be. A certain fullness of lips, a frank sensuality in his gaze. We all know what the word for that is, but it’s not polite to use it until he’s proven he’s that kind of boy.”
“But I don’t get it!” Shea was panting, trying to catch up to Michael as he fled. “The monster ate everyone else. How did you escape?”
Michael reached the boat first, flinging himself in. He waited for Shea to follow him and take the oars, guiding them smoothly away from the shore.
“It’s because I was different from the other boys,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear and looking away.
“What do you mean, different?” Shea’s muscles rippled and flexed as she rowed them to safety, and Michael could not tear his eyes away.
“Different. Pure, the monster said. Because I’m… I’ve never…” He looked away again, and the moonlight caught on his throat, outlined his clavicle.
“You’re a virgin,” Shea said, realization dawning. “What a waste.”
Michael blushed.
“If we get out of this alive,“ she said. “I’m going to fix that.”
Susan, I know this will trigger the inevitable question, and to forestall that, no the writing is not going. I should do something about that. Probably. One day.
Fun fact: cats don’t just wiggle their butts before they pounce out of excitement - they’re also making tiny adjustments to the position of their feet in order to more precisely aim the ensuing lunge.
You are moping on your island of self-imposed exile, and then this girl shows up.
She’s flying your best friend’s ship. The ship that Han thought he lost for ever. The ship that was stolen and passed through so many hands that he was sure he’d never see it again. The same ship that took you away from home for the first time.
She’s accompanied by your personal droid. The droid you left behind and abandoned. The droid that C-3PO was sure would never be the same again.
She holds out her hand and she’s holding your father’s light saber. The sword you were sure was lost forever. The light saber that you dropped down a bottomless air shaft on a gas giant thirty years ago. The light saber you knew you would never see again.
You look up and you see her eyes. Maz Kanata says that if you live long enough, you see the same eyes looking out of different faces. The girl’s face is different, but those eyes are the same. You know those eyes. They’re the eyes you thought you’d never see again.
And that’s when you know it.
You’re screwed.
They say sometimes the Force works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, the Force will send you little signs. Subtle clues.
Other times, the Force will just beat you repeatedly over the head with a gigantic neon sign that says: “You can’t run away from your past anymore, Luke. I won’t let you. Look, here is your past come back to haunt you. Now deal with it.”
You have no idea how much I adore this post with my whole being
I like the idea of the Force sending Luke little signs over the years that it’s time to return to his loved ones, gently increasing in intensity as he ignores them, until it finally gets fed up and shoves the events of Episode 7 into motion, finishing with a flourish of HERE’S YOUR NEW APPRENTICE, SPACE HOBO.
“My friend told me a story he hadn’t told anyone for years. When he used to tell it years ago people would laugh and say, ‘Who’d believe that? How can that be true? That’s daft.’ So he didn’t tell it again for ages. But for some reason, last night, he knew it would be just the kind of story I would love.
When he was a kid, he said, they didn’t use the word autism, they just said ‘shy’, or ‘isn’t very good at being around strangers or lots of people.’ But that’s what he was, and is, and he doesn’t mind telling anyone. It’s just a matter of fact with him, and sometimes it makes him sound a little and act different, but that’s okay.
Anyway, when he was a kid it was the middle of the 1980s and they were still saying ‘shy’ or ‘withdrawn’ rather than ‘autistic’. He went to London with his mother to see a special screening of a new film he really loved. He must have won a competition or something, I think. Some of the details he can’t quite remember, but he thinks it must have been London they went to, and the film…! Well, the film is one of my all-time favourites, too. It’s a dark, mysterious fantasy movie. Every single frame is crammed with puppets and goblins. There are silly songs and a goblin king who wears clingy silver tights and who kidnaps a baby and this is what kickstarts the whole adventure.
It was ‘Labyrinth’, of course, and the star was David Bowie, and he was there to meet the children who had come to see this special screening.
‘I met David Bowie once,’ was the thing that my friend said, that caught my attention.
‘You did? When was this?’ I was amazed, and surprised, too, at the casual way he brought this revelation out. Almost anyone else I know would have told the tale a million times already.
He seemed surprised I would want to know, and he told me the whole thing, all out of order, and I eked the details out of him.
He told the story as if it was he’d been on an adventure back then, and he wasn’t quite allowed to tell the story. Like there was a pact, or a magic spell surrounding it. As if something profound and peculiar would occur if he broke the confidence.
It was thirty years ago and all us kids who’d loved Labyrinth then, and who still love it now, are all middle-aged. Saddest of all, the Goblin King is dead. Does the magic still exist?
I asked him what happened on his adventure.
‘I was withdrawn, more withdrawn than the other kids. We all got a signed poster. Because I was so shy, they put me in a separate room, to one side, and so I got to meet him alone. He’d heard I was shy and it was his idea. He spent thirty minutes with me.
‘He gave me this mask. This one. Look.
‘He said: ‘This is an invisible mask, you see?
‘He took it off his own face and looked around like he was scared and uncomfortable all of a sudden. He passed me his invisible mask. ‘Put it on,’ he told me. ‘It’s magic.’
‘And so I did.
‘Then he told me, ‘I always feel afraid, just the same as you. But I wear this mask every single day. And it doesn’t take the fear away, but it makes it feel a bit better. I feel brave enough then to face the whole world and all the people. And now you will, too.
‘I sat there in his magic mask, looking through the eyes at David Bowie and it was true, I did feel better.
‘Then I watched as he made another magic mask. He spun it out of thin air, out of nothing at all. He finished it and smiled and then he put it on. And he looked so relieved and pleased. He smiled at me.
‘'Now we’ve both got invisible masks. We can both see through them perfectly well and no one would know we’re even wearing them,’ he said.
‘So, I felt incredibly comfortable. It was the first time I felt safe in my whole life.
‘It was magic. He was a wizard. He was a goblin king, grinning at me.
‘I still keep the mask, of course. This is it, now. Look.’
I kept asking my friend questions, amazed by his story. I loved it and wanted all the details. How many other kids? Did they have puppets from the film there, as well? What was David Bowie wearing? I imagined him in his lilac suit from Live Aid. Or maybe he was dressed as the Goblin King in lacy ruffles and cobwebs and glitter.
What was the last thing he said to you, when you had to say goodbye?
‘David Bowie said, ‘I’m always afraid as well. But this is how you can feel brave in the world.’ And then it was over. I’ve never forgotten it. And years later I cried when I heard he had passed.’
My friend was surprised I was delighted by this tale.
‘The normal reaction is: that’s just a stupid story. Fancy believing in an invisible mask.’
first law: write the fic you wish to see in the world aka goddammit do I have to do everything myself around here
second law: it’s going to be longer than you think. much longer. hahaha so long. why are you crying
third law: the time spent writing is inversely proportional to the amount of smut present, dammit
fourth law: flesh out your secondary characters. make them real people. have them take over. oh god. put them back. somebody please help
fifth law: the time spent researching canon is directly proportional to the amount of time you’ll spend altering your plot. that one person on the internet
sixth law: the time spent researching in general will eclipse the time you spend writing. the nsa agent monitoring your internet search history is curled up in a corner. his boss wants to know if you’re a threat. “I don’t know,” the agent sobs. “I just really don’t know.”
seventh law: at some point, someone will ask what your favorite hobby is. you will feign a heart attack to get away
My book got published a few years ago! not breaking news, but I still remember holding it, giggling helplessly on my couch thinking “It’s a book with my name on it!”. Putting my little story out there was terrifying and thrilling all at once, but what really delighted and surprised me was just how excited and proud my friends and co-workers were for me. Their joy made me even happier, and it still does!
You know that feeling when you get settled into your car, set your GPS to this new location, push play on your favorite song, and then your GPS interrupts it every 2 seconds to tell you how to get out of the neighborhood you’ve lived in for the last 15 years? That’s what mansplaining feels like.
my mom taught me the therapeutic power of cleaning. open all the windows. throw out the old. wipe down the entire house. burn some incense. roast some coffee. then rest. that way the tears from last night don’t feel as heavy.
She just wanted you to clean the house
No it’s actually been studied and proven that for people with anxiety and depression that it’s really good for us it gives us a sense of control, setting, and being well grounded. It allows to make a new place out of the old and is really relaxing
It is such a catch-22, that cleaning when you are depressed (and likely less able to gather the executive functioning to do so) also alleviates it. After having a good clean, I always feel more in control and less stressed. It’s the getting started that is the hardest part. The good news is, even a tiny bit of cleaning has a positive effect, so start with what you can manage.
Even if you just clean up the immediate area around you, even if you clean a little at a time or spaced out over days, you’ll feel lighter.
This!!
Even if all you can do is put three dishes in the dishwasher, or move the dirty laundry pile to outside the laundry door, or throw out that box of leftovers that have been sitting in the fridge for 2 weeks
it counts.
My therapy professor always gets his patients to just wipe the bathroom mirror when they’re feeling that way. Just the mirror, nothing more. But then by the time his patients are done with the mirror, most of them report “well, I was already in the bathroom, so I did the sink and tub too.” And before they know it, they’ve cleaned an entire bathroom.
My therapist once told me that, every day, I should try and do at least one thing that I either enjoyed, or gave me a sense of mastery. And honestly, the enjoyment thing can kind of seem overrated, especially when you feel like crap, but the mastery thing? Doing laundry or taking out the trash or whatever else I can bring myself to accomplish?
Holy shit, man… it’s /good/
It works for me. Same as cooking a good meal, or, you know, finishing a paper or grant proposal *sob*
okay so there was this little kid called Onfim, and he lived in Novgorod in the middle of the 13th century.
HOW DO WE KNOW?
Because Onfim went to school, and he did his homework and wrote class
notes on sheets of birch bark, a very popular disposable writing
material in those days. When they were thrown away, they were preserved
by the clay soil and later discovered by archaeologists.
Most of his writing is only interesting if you can read Old Slavic
and are really interested in mediaeval pedagogy, but what we can ALL
enjoy are the DOODLES.
On
the left we can see writing practice, but on the right he’s drawn a
long-necked curly-tailed beast with a weird tongue (maybe breathing
fire). It’s labelled ‘I am a wild beast’ and carries a sign reading
‘Greetings from Onfim to Danilo’
IT’S CUTE.
And here’s Onfim’s portrait of himself and his dad.
I’ve seen these before! My favorite part is definitely the pitchfork
fingers he puts on everyone. It makes me think he learned it from
someone else and copied it dutifully; this is the symbol for hands, this
is how you draw them, now you can see all my people have hands. Like
how I learned how to draw little carrot noses and didn’t think to
deviate for like, five freakin’ years. (Thanks Tristyn!)
If you click through to the link, you can see this one drawing he
does of other people and one dude has these GIANT GOOGLY EYES and I
choose to believe that is his teacher giving him the death stare to stop
fooling around and get back to work.
I hope Onfim grew up okay and had a happy life. I hope he got better
at writing, but drew like that all his life. And I hope he always drew
pictures and wrote notes to Danilo.
me, crouched down in front of my tomato plants, examining a pattern of insect bites on their lower leaves: i’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. i’m going to kill them for you. don’t worry, babies. I’m going to murder every single son of a bitch who ever got a mouthful of you. they’ll die screaming
my neighbor, who i did not realize was also outside, standing behind the fence: oh! okay. you’re talking to the plants. okay.
A group of rough looking boys walked past me today and all I heard of their conversation was “he’s got that anxiety disorder bro so I went with him so he’d be more comfortable” and it made me realise the world isn’t all that bad
The pet store I worked at had a pen with rabbits near the front door. On every side of the pen were huge signs saying “You can pet me, but don’t pick me up!” One day two absolutely huge guys came in and one immediately reaches into the pen to grab a rabbit. Before i could say anything his friend grabbed his arm and asked him “did you see the sign?” He said “yeah! it says that you can pick them up but don’t pet them!” Then he went quiet for a moment and softly said “I didn’t read it right did I?” And his friend just puts his arm on his shoulder and said “its ok, i know you’ve got that thing where words get mixed up. Let just pet these cute lil shits” And I still haven’t gotten over that interaction.
I was walking my dog through Boston bc he likes the likes car rides. He’s a little thing tbh we call him short and long. So this huge scary man with a full beard approaches me like “hey can my buddy and I pet your dog? He gets nervous around dogs but your’s is so small I think it’s a good place to start.” Ofc I was like “yes he’s very friendly!” So this guy brings his equally big friend over and they sit on the floor while this man looks terrified of my tiny dog so big man number one asks “can I pick him up?” And i say yes so he picks him up and puts him on man number two’s lap and man number two is abt to freak out and his friend straight up just goes “hey man, it’s okay just relax I’d never let anything hurt you. He’s a good boy.” I’ll never forget it ever bc I know that man looked at me (5'3 , glasses, probably wearing a sweater vest) and my dog (kinda goofy looking little thing) and was like ‘ah yes the two least intimidating living things I’ve seen in Boston all day he’ll feel relaxed around them’ and went out of his way to help his friend. It makes me so happy
A good post, pure.
Another adorable story has been added.
Can you tell I’m looking for feel good stories tonight? So much so, that I might have to write my own. That’ll make my friend, Susan, happy.
Remember in 1993 when Jurassic Park was like…the end all, be all of special effects?
not gonna lie that still looks intimately real
I’m still somewhat convinced that someone sold their soul to create the special effects in Jurassic Park because that shit is over 20 years old and it still really, really holds up, better than the stuff in a lot of current movies, even.
Fucking witchcraft, man.
fucking look at this shit though
Literally see this post flying around with a few different responses added to the bottom each time so I’ll say it for this one myself:
THEY ACTUALLY BUILT A GIANT MASSIVELY DETAILED FUCKING ANIMATRONIC T-REX FOR ALL OF THIS THAT’S WHY THE EFFECTS ARE SO GOOD. CAUSE IT AIN’T CGI. AND IT AIN’T GUY IN A COSTUME. IT’S A BIG FUCKING ROBOT DINOSAUR. AND EVERY PART IS DESIGNED TO MOVE. IT COST LIKE HALF THE BUDGET OF THE FILM.
amazing
And they had the film it in small increments, especially in the outdoor scenes, because the rain fall kept soaking into the ‘skin’ of the rex and would slow down and mess up its movements. So they would stop filming and have a crew out there drying off this massive, fake dinosaur, and then they’d start filming again until it was too wet. Repeat until the end of the scene.
They used animatronics and detailed costumes for most if not all of the dinosaurs in the first movie.
The triceratops for instance, was also animatronic.
One of my favorite anecdotes I’ve read on tumblr is how the t-rex robot from Jurassic park would malfunction while it was drying out. How did it malfunction, you might wonder?
Motherfucker randomly started moving.
So apparently if you were on the jp set you would sometimes hear people screaming bloody murder even though they were all well aware that it was a giant animatronic puppet and wouldn’t actually, you know, eat them.
Did not know this, had to reblog for awesome movie history insights.
So, I knew about the animatronics bit but I did not know the raptors were guys in suits and the malfunctioning t-rex sounds terrifying.
And i just googled malfunctioning t-rexand was not disappointed. Apparently in order to put the skin on over the steel frame a guy had to crawl inside thet-rex while it was turned on and glue the skin down. And if somebody turned the t-rex off or the power went out the guy in the t-rex stood a very real chance of getting mangled and killed by the hydraulics.
So of course, the power goes out.
And this guy is still in there gluing the skin down.
Apparently the way to survive getting sheered to death by huge sheets of metal while you’re inside a giant t-rex robot is to curl into a ball and hope for the best.
And this guy hoped for the best and got it.
Some other people on stage pried open the t-rex jaws and glue guy crawled out of its mouth and was totally okay.
This is getting better and better.
I think they only had like 6 minutes of CGI
I’m just waiting for the T-Rex to come to life and leave its stand.
The thing about this that gets my special effects nerd going is the fact that EVERY single dinosaur was sculpted by artists based on the current existent archeological evidence of the time.
Even better than that, this movie ADVANCED our best understanding of dinosaurs at the time. They were blowing out a budget bigger than anything Hollywood had ever seen, and along with employing almost the last hurrah of incredible physical FX, they had a bank of those newfangled digital SFX computers. Nobody’d ever really created convincing dinosaurs in a movie before. It’d all been stop-motion animation, and even when the models were exquisitely crafted, you could just tell there was something OFF about them. Spielberg wanted THE BEST DINOSAURS EVER, and he figured on using the cutting edge of digital modeling and animation technology to build them for him.
So they got hold of some of the best paleontologists they could find and said, “We want you guys to take this tech that your labs could pretty much never afford and use it to build us the most realistic, accurate dinosaur models the world has ever seen.”
The paleontologists knew an opportunity when it bit them in the ass. They plugged in everything they knew about dinosaurs, all the skeletons and their best guesses about soft tissue and all that. And when they’d created those dinosaur models, they had the computer start moving them as they realistically would with anatomy like that. One guy took a look at those walking t-rexes and velociraptors (really utahraptors, but whatevs, fam), and he said, “Wait a minute, I’ve seen movement like that before.”
He called up film of a chicken walking. Everyone in the room said, “Holy shit.”
Prior to 1989, the idea that birds were descended from dinosaurs existed–we knew about archaeopteryx, we knew there was some minor connection there–but the idea that DINOSAURS LIVE IN THE MODERN WORLD AND THEY ARE CALLED BIRDS was not pre-eminent. Jurassic Park changed our scientific understanding of dinosaurs.
That paleontologists’d be Kevin Padian. Who is awesome.
my great uncle Bob is exactly what you’d expect from an australian farmer. he’s approximately 65 years old and he’s a cattle farmer on a station (a station is a fuck off huge ranch, basically, it’s a couple thousand acres) and he’s this beanpole of a man who looks like he’s spent his entire life outside because, well, he has. he also drives this ancient beat-up yellow ute which is more rust than car at this point and was made in approximately 1980. it’s old.
anyway he was driving to the far end of the station the other day and an emu ran out in front of his car and he hit it, only it didn’t die, it came flying through the windshield, still alive and mostly unharmed. so there’s my uncle and this emu which is now sitting in the front seat of his car and understandably the emu is pretty pissed off and the first thought that goes through Bob’s head is “oh shit it’s going to start kicking me” so he figures the best way to stop it doing that is to punch it in the face and that is the story of how my uncle got in a fistfight with an emu.
this is the most australian thing i’ve ever read. this is the essence of australia
As an Australian who has also punched an Emu, I endorse this post.
