There Needs To Be More Thomas Jane Frank Castle Fics, We Gotta Get With The Program Here Thomas Jane

Hello everybody! I recently became an auntie! I am trying to compile a list of good children's TV shows and movies, and I would really appreciate some recommendations! What did you watch and like as a kid or an adult? Let me know in the comments or tags. Thanks so much! 😊

ATONEMENT (2007) dir. Joe Wright

“How arw you paying for photoshop” im not LMAO

Last art of the year to celebrate the end of 2022!

Chose to draw a scene from one of my favourite movies: Stardust! Tristan and Yvaine dancing is a sequence I adore 🌟🌠💙

✨do not repost my art | Reblogs are love✨

"All white people are racist--"

No group is all bad.

In any group you have a range of horrible assholes and blessedly wonderful people.

To say of any group that they're all racist, evil, oppressive is racism.

And yes, black and brown people can be racist. I've experienced it both because they thought I was white or because they saw I'm Hapa.

I'm sick and fucking tired of racist black folk getting away with saying ALL whites are racist and not looking to their own community.

My late mother was white. She was a wonderful, loving woman, to everyone. But people claim that because she was white she HAD to be racist. Even though she married an Southeast Asian man back when it was illegal in half of the American states.

And I am sick of white Liberals, especially self-hating white women, kissing ass and bowing to racist blacks in order to Signal Boost what Allies they are, so they can say "Other whites are racist, but not me." Girls, I guarantee when your back is turned they're saying nasty things about you, too. Racists think it's hilarious that you think they respect you.

And white Liberals:

Because you never do. Even with all the security videos and TikToks showing black folk beating up elder Asians, you haven't spoken out that those are Hate Crimes.

And I'm appalled by black folks who've gone all anti-Semitic. If you want white folks to remember Jim Crow and feel guilty (even if they didn't live then), how about you feel guilty about your willful ignorance about the Jews who marched for civil rights? Who were attacked. And those who were killed by the KKK. Who didn't have to put their lives at risk at all. They could have ignored the marches. But they didn't. They left safety and put themselves in danger.

And your thanks is to call Jews every horrible slur and tear down posters of Jewish people, including children, who are currently being held hostage.

Do you have mirrors? How about you go look in them. Ask yourself what Dr. King, who marched side-by-side with rabbis, would think of you?

Oh. Wait. I forgot. Y'all canceled Dr. King because he was "too nice." Talk about ingratitude.

I'm tired of being polite. If you say "all whites are" or "all Jews are" or "all asians are" you are racists as bad as any white person. You have no right to feel holier than thou, to feel superior, or more moral.

I remember the black folks I grew up with -- my mother was the only white in our neighborhood, and my dad and I the only asians, but there were a lot of mixed black kids, as there always are -- those folks who grew up with serious oppression. They became doctors, lawyers, educators, scientists, even in the worst of times, because they and their community believed in achievement, not victimhood.

Instead of moaning about racism, which is less legally than it was when I was a kid, why don't you tell children to concentrate on achievement? Because if black folks in the 1920s and 30s became professionals, you sure as hell can.

And stop being mad if we asians -- even half-Asians like me -- and Jews choose achievement instead of pointing fingers at others and crying that you can't get anywhere because Racism.

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

🎬 Peter Jackson

+ IMDb trivia