I find it unfathomable and astounding that Tumblr isn't more obsessed with Sam Reich. You're telling me there exists out there a man who was born into the aristocracy of our country—with every privilege of modern society at his fingertips—who didn't complete high school (due to his mental health) and instead chose to devote his life to making strangers laugh and raising awareness on mental health. A full-bearded short king who is so committed to being the change he wants to see in the world that he decided to take the company he worked for into his own hands so that he could make sure all the people who worked under him could keep their livelihoods.
How many other CEOs are out here being as honest and transparent with their target audience/market as Sam Reich is? How many of them acknowledge when they fumble and continuously strive to be better than they were? How many of them actually seem like they respect their talent, both in the cast and crew? Sam Reich is the standard we should be holding other CEOs to.
But forget about all that (I could talk for a long time about the respect I have for Sam Reich)—ignore just how respectable he is as a businessman and a person. Ignore all the wholesome reasons for obsessing over Sam Dalton Reich.
The man is a stone-cold fox.
He's a little chaos gremlin and an absolute evil mastermind all rolled into one classy suit and well-groomed beard. Whenever Sam is on the set, you can guarantee he is going to make you crack a smile. And for someone with such natural authority, he's never afraid to be the butt of a joke and show himself being embarrassed. Go ahead, watch any clip of him trying to improvise in No Laugh Newsroom and just try to resist that blush.
You're sleeping on a goldmine of a man, here, damnit! And I will NOT let this go ignored any longer!
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Aziraphale raising his wing for Crowley hits so different with the S2 context. I feel like we all looked at it as, here’s this sweet little principality, he’s kind and naive so he’ll shelter even a demon—but it wasn’t really that, was it? It wasn’t just some random act of kindness.
It was a message.
When Crowley slithered up that wall, Aziraphale was nervous. Because he gave his sword to the humans, sure—but also perhaps because he was seeing this angel again for the first time since he had fallen. He learns Crawly’s new name (Crowley never asks him for his name, he knows it already) and they have a brief exchange that was probably a lot like the ones they used to have.
Then when the thunder starts, it’s Crowley who’s first to move to him, to shuffle hopefully to his side.
I think when Aziraphale lifted his wing up, it was almost a way to say I remember who you are, I remember the kindness you gave me. I’m still here.
He wasn’t just playing umbrella. He was letting Crowley know he hadn’t been rejected by all of Heaven.
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I bet the topic of gender and sexuality in this universe is super interesting. Extra-canon stuff points out that the long-lived races have an effect on what’s seen as attractive by short-lived races. The beauty standards of humans leans towards feminine androgyny, because elf gender presentation is very ambiguous. While on the other hand, half-foots on average see dwarves as the beauty standard. Oh, the in-universe discourse surrounding this would be so compelling!
Here's the extra about beauty standards!
Speaking of which, while going back through ryoko kui's blog I realized there's a last bit I haven't seen translated? I attempted to translate it with my poor jp, the help of google and by going by how this first part was translated. But there's these kanji I cant understand at all! Ryoko Kui's handwriting is my worst enemy
Here's what I got so far
So besides Elf beauty standards tallmen also have their own specific tastes! Makes sense considering they're such a wild spread race. If anyone knows what the elf is saying please help
Edit: thanks to iamluminia in the replies! Aparently the elf is saying "邪魔", maybe they think this conversation is a bother?
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When I was a little child, there was a particular library book I checked out week after week, endlessly renewing it as much as I was able. The book, How to Raise and Keep a Dragon by John Topsell was a quasi-nonfiction guide to, as you guessed, rearing different species of dragons. I loved it. Tiny-me had plans.
As an adult, I tried to buy it a few times. No dice. The book was so old that no mainstream bookseller stocked it. Even when I tried niche websites recommended by various booksellers and librarians, I still couldn't find it. It was sadly lost to time, apparently not popular enough to make it into the archives.
But.
My best friend had a copy of that book. We're going to call her G, for several reasons not relevant at the moment. I was discussing my search with G one day, for some reason I can't remember now. She got a funny look on her face, asked me a few questions about the cover, listened to me do a very poor job of explaining with my hands how the hardcover copy had included a real gemstone in the dragon's forehead, and then went off to fish it out of her bookcase.
I was Gobsmacked.
I should not have been, given that the history of shared childhood books between us both would have made a circle with ragged edges, more so than a venn diagram, but I digress. The book came home to live in my house for a few months, and I was delighted by the chance to read it again.
Do people remember those type of books? Dragonology, Egyptology, The Stone Age - a way of introducing children to non fiction. They very earnestly spoke about the responsibilities needed to raise dragons, the practicalities involved. There was a record of registration you could fill out, if you had carefully considered the information to your self and felt you were responsible enough to to go through with adopting a dragon.
I vaguely remember filling out some of the riddle and puzzle questions in the Dragonology books. I would never have written in John Topsell's book, it was a library book.
But.
When I re-read G's copy at home, smiling over the familiar artwork, I was surprised to turn the page and find the painstaking, somewhat-wonky handwriting staring back at at me. Baby G, with her name spelled out in freshly-joined but still-not-quite-got-the-hang-of-this-yet cursive lettering. Baby G had filled the registration out in her best handwriting, in glittery green gel pen to denote the importance of the document. This was compared to the earlier, less important checklists done in plain black ink.
I read the registration certificate. Smiled. Smiled some more at the names listed for G's dragon, her dam, and her sire - Eragon was also a great book. Go off, Christopher Paolini.
Breed; standard Western Dragon. The box 'miniture' was ticked, to show that G's dragon was of the minature specic variety, rather than a full size dragon. This was, as she would later explain to me, chosen on the basis that baby-G felt it was the more financially responsible choice. Also so she could keep her dragon in her house with her, but we're not there yet.
I looked at that certificate. Looked at it again. Looked at the calendar, and then looked at the sewing machine I had just been given for Christmas.
G celebrates her birthday in January.
The template came first. I studied the different images of the standard western dragon through the book, picked my favourite, and re-drew it to a significantly larger scale.
Inking the design to the fabric, four times over probably took the longest.
I very subtly asked G the next time she was over (after hurling all dragon-related materials in a panic into the depths of my wardrobe) what type of colour dragon she would have, should it come up. As G later said, that type of question from me truly did not register as anything other than a question asked from theoretical interest. I transitioned the topic as discreetly as I could after she answered, and delightfully, my sneakiness went in one ear, out the other, and she forgot I had ever asked until several weeks later.
I enjoyed painting them.
Don't ask me how many mistakes I made through this process. So many. I do already know how to sew, but it's been a long time. I'd been meaning to get back into it for a while.
Given that various aunts and grandmothers and my mother had a knack for calling when I was up to my elbows in either paint or pins, it became a family affair. Each of them peered at the project through face time and offered their advice.
Some of the advice I took, some I didn't. No regrets about sewing it in pink thread. Considerable regrets about accidentally slicing one of the feet in half and having to fix that.
In the end though, she was finished.
I carefully pinned on her name tag, with the name baby-G had chosen with a little blue ribbon. A collar was unacceptable, this is a dragon, people, come on. Dragon's don't wear collars.
I put the book in the box, open to the registration certificate, and put the dragon on top. Wrapped the whole thing up with a bow and then refused to touch it before I sent myself mad trying to fix details that didn't really need to be fixed.
A bit late for her birthday, sure, but there we are. We'd gone for a trip off to nowhere for a weekend, to go try wine made out of blueberries and hike up a waterfall. (And climb on it. And swim in it. It was a very good waterfall).
I gave her the box, informed her she wasn't allowed to keep the box, just the contents (it was the only thing I had that was big enough for me to keep all of my A3 portfolios in, it had only been temporarily-repurposed as dragon housing), and then left the next bit up to the gods.
A surprise, sitting un-awaited for some 15 years in amber, to catch up to baby G and adult G together.
Happy Birthday, baby and adult G.
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