An interesting thing about VeggieTales is that the Bible stories it retells are mostly restricted to the Old Testament, because the creator made a promise to his mother that he would never depict Jesus as a vegetable
I demand to know what Christ’s veggiesona is
There’s a toy set that depicts nativity
Jesus is a carrot
no, you ignorant peon, that is laura the carrot’s baby brother PLAYING jesus in a nativity scene. laura is playing the angel, at the top. if you knew anything about anything at all, you would know that these are characters from the veggie tales tv show depicting the nativity. you can see larry the cucumber, pa grape, and mr. lunt are playing the wise men, you brainless sack of excrement. you absolute buffoon. you know nothing. don’t fucking try me.
Speaking as someone whose parents and family members still refuse to be persuaded to keep their cats inside, if your cat dies as a result of being allowed to roam freely, whether hit by a car or killed by another animal or disease or whatever, that’s 100% on you. The owner of the cat is responsible for the death of that animal as surely as if they killed it themselves because it was completely preventable. This makes people upset to hear, but you can’t claim to love something in one breath and then completely abandon them to the many dangers of the world in the next. If you love your pet you do everything in your power to keep it safe.
We need to keep saying “what happens to an outdoor cat is 110% the owners fault” until owners realize this. That person who hit the cat probably already felt horrible and if they couldn’t stop, they couldn’t stop. They didn’t mean “I was too busy, I couldn’t care to stop” they were literally saying “they could not physically stop the car in time to not hit the cat”. It was never their fault, and it wasn’t the cat’s either because they don’t know any better. It’s 110% the owners fault and I’m going to keep saying it until every horrible cat owner puts there cat back inside where it belongs.
Also think about your kids if you don’t care for the cat. How do you think that 9 year old, who didn’t know outdoor cats were bad, felt? They had no idea this would happen because of their ignorant parents. Their parents ended a life and damaged their child’s. This is a traumatizing event for a young child. And it’s so unfair for everyone involved… Except the parent obviously.
Just keep your damn cat inside or do an actual humane thing and just don’t fucking get one.
For god’s sake, just keep your cats indoors or give it supervised outdoor time – however much your kitty may love the outside, the outside?
It doesn’t. Love. Them. Back.
I know that when a pet wants out, it’s extremely hard to keep them in because they do make a fuss. I’ve seen people saying it’s unfair to not let their cat roam free all the time. Well. You know what’s even more unfair? Letting your child grieve an animal at the age of nine because you didn’t want to put up with the cat complaining to go out, because you didn’t want to train it to go out. That is on you.
Somebody who’s just killed an animal by accident is already going to feel like a monster. Although you possibly don’t care, they could’ve risked their safety and the safety of their passengers (including children! Newsflash!!) if they had swerved to avoid it. They did what they could. And they had the decency to come and tell you, instead of driving away to remain guiltless and leaving you or your child to find what had happened.
So how dare you blame everybody else for what happens to your goddamn animal when it’s your responsibility to keep it safe.
Hey, barricade kids, I’m looking for Enjoltaire and/or Courferre prompts.. or JMB… or Eposette… just, ya know, something gay, basically! Send me ideas/pose references(!!!) and I’ll draw shit ❤
the funniest thing in the entire pirates of the caribbean series is definitely that one scene in At World’s End where they have parlay but davy jones is part of it, and rather than have him stand in the shallows or something they get a big bucket of water and have in stand on it on shore
who thought of that idea? who thought “put davy jones in a bucket of water” and had the guts to suggest it aloud? and then who went “hey that sounds like a great idea!”
at some point someone told davy jones their idea was for him to stand in a bucket of water and he agreed to it
*stands majestically in a bucket*
ok but notice the trail of buckets behind him meaning he walked from the ocean through three other buckets of water before he got into the one hes standing in
It’s even funnier when you consider how he must have figured all this out in the first place.
Some folks are asking “well, if he can avoid the no-dry-land curse simply by standing in a bucket, doesn’t that ruin his whole motivation?”, but he’s not on dry land here.
The parley takes place on a sandbar – which, for the unfamiliar, is a temporary “island” of sand deposited by breaking waves, unconnected with the shore, that spends most of its time submerged, being exposed only at low tide.
What Jones is doing here is rules-lawyering his curse. Can you imagine the trial and error he must have gone through in order to determine that this would actually work?
“Okay, do islands count as dry land? How about parts of the shore below the high tide mark? Reefs? Shoals? What if I stand in a pool of water on a shoal? Does it have to be seawater, or will any water do? Does it have to be a natural tidepool, or can it be something artificial, like a bucket?”
What I am saying is that there must have been a process.
Pretty sure that this implies that the reverse – a bucket of sand, floating on the water (big bucket with just a bit of sand), would qualify as dry land. That’s absurd, so I’m pretty sure that his lawyer pulled a fast one over the curse governor.
It may be absurd, but the text of the film bears it out. Davy Jones can sense the presence of his heart while it’s at sea, but not while it’s on land (indeed, that’s why he buried it on land in the first place: to break his connection with it) – yet placing the heart in a simple jar of dirt conceals it from Jones’ awareness just as surely as burial on land does, even if the jar is on a boat at the time. Suitably prepared vessels filled with dirt absolutely count as dry land for the purpose of Jones’ curse.
Then the reverse should also be true. If he buried it in a jar of water, no matter how far inland it is, he would be able to sense it. So by this logic, any container of seawater counts as not dry land, ergo, the bucket is a perfectly viable loophole.
Not necessarily. It’s traditionally a lot easier to accidentally get whammied by a curse than it is to weasel around it – I figure that’s why he’s using multiple layers of indirection here. He’s forbidden to set foot on dry land, but it’s technically not dry land (it’s a sandbar, a non-permanent landform exposed only at low tide) and he technically didn’t set foot on it (he’s standing in a bucket of water). It’s entirely possible that either one of those things alone wouldn’t make the grade.
okay but this all raises one further, very important question: if it’s specifically “dry land” he’s forbidden from, what about wetlands.
can Davy Jones fight you in salt marshes? can he throw down in a peat bog?Swamp Battle?
This is the quality content I come to Tumblr for.
could he step on land if his shoes are wet?
No matter how ridiculous PotC gets I will love it. Especially when it results in conversations like this
What if he crawls around on his hands and knees, with his feet raised slightly into the air? Can he walk on his hands? Can he ride around in a litter or a wheelchair?
can he be in a wheelbarrow?
What if he flies over dry land? Like in a hot air balloon, or in the claws of a giant bird?
What if he’s carried by two swallows using a strand of creeper?
European swallows or African swallows?
They could grip him by the tentacles.
wait, he’s only, like, ten feet away from the water, why would he not just stand there
The sun falling through the half-drawn curtains is stretching on the comforter in long bands of light, outlining the two silhouettes huddled under. It’s cold in the room, and the blankets are pulled high, leaving only visible long strands of golden hair, slightly tangled, dark curls, very tangled, and an arm. The skin is covered in watercolor clouds and spiralling wines, and a cat is resting in the crook of it, the small paw resting possessively on the arm. The hand, large and stained with paint, is curled around another, smaller, the fingertips sporting ink spots and a few cuts here and there.
The comforter stirrs slightly, not yet the first stretches of awakeness, but it’s getting close. The arm covered in clouds tightens slightly, as does the second, bringing the other body closer. The blond curls wave a bit as both sleepers shift slightly, curling up against each other. A hand tries to pull the comforter up, to shield drowsy eyes from the light. But it uncovers both pairs of feet, exposing them to the cold. Quickly, they set to work, grasping and pulling until they are protected again.
Grantaire finally blinks against the light. There’s no need to pretend that they’re still asleep, but Enjolras will still try. He closes his eyes a little tighter, scrunches his nose, grabs Grantaire’s shrit and tries to hide against his chest. Grantaire just laughs a little ; he knows Enjolras can feel it rumble, and in return, he can feel him smile.
– Come on, sleepyhead, he finally say. Don’t you have a revolution to plan ? A government to overthrow ?
His only answer is a soft noise. Very gently, Grantaire pries open the hands closed on his shirt, and pulls Enjolras away a little, earning himself another groan at the loss of warmth and contact. But he’s now at the right distance to kiss him. First on the forehead, then on the nose which scrunches up again. Then, finally, on the lips. Enjolras kisses him back, almost eagerly. One kiss turns to three, then ten. Grantaire slides his fingers through the long blond hair, and Enjolras starts playing with his curls. But when the paint-stained hands start playing with the hem of his shirt, he draws the line.
– Not before my first cup of coffee, you fiend.
– Always so demanding.
Grantaire kisses him once more for good measure, then gathers the courage to get out of bed. He hisses a little at the cold air, and hurridly puts his pants on. Behind him, Enjolras has already burrowed back into the covers, and Grantaire knows he won’t move without his first (three) cups of coffee. He pads down to the kitchen, Jude following close. He gives her her food, starts the coffee maker, then sits at the counter to watch it, smiling all the way.
He’s back in the room five minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs. The roll of blankets and Enjolras hasn’t moved an inch. He puts one on the nightstand, waves the other around where Enjolras’ head should be. The comforter parts a little, and a hand creeps out, grabbing the cup eagerly.
– You’re going to spill it, Grantaire simply says.
He slides under the blankets with some difficulty, and takes his own cup. After a minute, Enjolras joins him, reclining against him, his cup held in both hands. Grantaire steals another kiss, one that tastes of coffee. Enjolras just smiles and leans his head against his shoulder. They stay like that, enjoying their coffee, the sun that warms the bed, the presence of the other against them. They’re going to get up soon, start the day, paint, go to lessons, meet with the others and plan their next actions. But for now, they are content to just bask in the too rare quiestness that belongs only to them.
See, this is a difficult question not because I think any of them wouldn’t but because I think they all definitely would.
Enjolras shows up in a temper because someone was abusing a baby goat and who does things like that and raging about the injustices of animal abuse while cuddling the baby.
Combeferre is goat-sitting and enthuses about the many and varied uses for goats and has his goat litter-trained and thus figures he may as well bring it out to get socialized.
Courfeyrac confiscated the kid because it was being held as evidence at the police station or something and it was bleating and really, Enjolras, what was he supposed to do, leave it there?
One of Feuilly’s neighbors had the goat but couldn’t take care of it anymore, so he took it in, and it’s still young enough to need frequent feeding, so he brings it to the meeting.
Jehan turns up with the goat following at his heels, announces he’s named it Eurydice because it followed him out of hell, and declines to explain further. When Combeferre points out it is a boy goat he only gets a withering look in response.
Joly and Bossuet turn up with a goat, Bossuet’s arm in a sling, and about six bags full of potential goat foods Joly wants to try. Both of them look very shifty. They all decide it is probably best not to ask.
Bahorel met this dude with a baller goat, and the dude was totally an asshole, so he punched him out and took the goat. The goat’s name is Rex. Like T. Rex, Enjolras, cool it, I’m not indoctrinating my goat into the monarchy.
Some model for one of Grantaire’s art classes came with a goat because they thought it would make for a good ~pastoral painting~ or something, and then left the goat there, so Grantaire shrugged and brought it with him. It’s named Bottle. Shut up, Courfeyrac, that’s a totally legit goat name.
Marius does not know why this goat is following him will someone please help him and stop giggling and taking pictures :(((((
we know how much R teases Enjolras for his chastity and unreachable persona, right? calls him by the names of deities and compares him to marble statues, yes?
so what if one day he accidentally overhears a conversation between Enjolras and Combeferre and he’s only mildly guilty as he listens to Enjolras gush romantically about some mysterious Man who, by the sound of it, is perfection personified, and Enjolras sounds completely gone for this man and looks so terribly heartbroken as he talks about how The Man doesn’t so much as look at him and doesn’t even take him seriously
and Grantaire’s own heart is being torn apart and frankly he feels like passing out, but he’s mostly enraged on behalf of Enjolras, because who the bloody hell is this fool who has been lucky enough to be blessed with his Apollo’s love and is so undeserving of it???
but then Combeferre asks Enjolras in a gentle sympathetic voice why does he think so and why hasn’t he tried speaking to The Man in question before drawing hasty conclusions, and Enjolras just gives this terrible sad smile that tugs painfully at Grantaire’s heart and answers: “How could I? I imagine R thinks love’s a mystery to me.”
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