Peter Solarz
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Andulka
noise dept.
we're not kids anymore.
cherry valley forever

@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi
RMH
Stranger Things
DEAR READER
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
trying on a metaphor
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

titsay
No title available
Show & Tell
Three Goblin Art

JBB: An Artblog!
hello vonnie

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@baranojosei
Doctor: $140,000 a year
Furry artist on Patreon: $160,000 a year
I’m sorry for the inaccuracies, Doctor Yiff
Well, furry artists are typically more competent and courteous than your average doctor, so I can see that.
Did you just legitimately tell me that a person who draws wolf ass is more competent than a dude who spent 8+ years in a university to give you your lung transplant?
doctors are bullshit and furry artists perform an infinitely more valuable service to society compared to them
You will die in 7 days
It took doctor’s like 10 years to diagnose what was wrong with me, some insisting I was faking for attention while a furry artist I knew just went “that sounds like crohn’s” after hearing me complain once and ended up being right
Also I can’t go to a doctor and ask them to draw Rouge the Bat wider than she is tall with tits to match, now can I
You could if you weren’t a fucking coward
World Heritage Post
Art by coolfrogdude together at last
[ID: a comic illustrating the above thread as if it was happening in a theater. The users are mostly shaped like their icons, pukicho is a pikachu and hokuto-ju-no-ken is a gengar. The last panel is gengar looks back where a speech bubble comes out of the crowd to say, “you could if you weren’t a fucking coward.” /end]
I can’t believe I’m actually seeing this post
Magic of tumblr,
I am morally obligated to add the YouTube video whenever this thread crosses my dash
I’ve seen this thread more than a few times. But this is the first time I’ve seen this video. So thank you for your service.
@hellsite-hall-of-fame
actually i will write a poem about it, because i used to genuinely believe i wouldn't live to be 30. i said it isn't right for me. i said i just sense it: it was an inevitability. what i wasn't saying was the other thing: that i knew it would be by my hand, my actions. by my own deed.
and what would i tell myself, really, honestly, at 22. back in 2016. it's been ten years - a decade - and they've slipped by both so slowly and impossibly quickly. a third of my life in a blink.
there are so many bad things. it's hard not to start with that. i've always been a "bad news first" person anyway, and there's so many tragedies coming. personal and political. for a long time it felt like i had a stretch of bad luck, and the bad luck just wouldn't stop coming.
in 2016 it was still about a year before someone would spike my drink, and a bad thing would happen to me. in another six months i'll break up with my public embarrassment of a boyfriend. the world never really heals from this year, but i don't know that it was really ever whole in the first place.
what could i tell you about your life, though. there are funerals coming that you cannot still figure the shape of. you lose all of your grandparents, you lose other family members, the cancer is diagnosed in your cousin. for about two months you'll be fully blind, half blind for six months. you go through three cars, although only actually crash one of them (the other two were old, there was nothing you could do but turn them in, crying about it). you're actually still looking for a new car after that incident, honestly, currently driving a stick shift subaru.
and that's the thing: you drive now, you're no longer terrified of it. you love trains again, the panic attacks have subsided. the world is certifiably on fire, that is immediately true: and... I'm proud of you for surviving to 32.
you will rekindle friendships that you thought you'd lost due to distance; you literally live down the street from jason and the two of you spend many saturdays talking and laughing. you haven't started your weekly dnd sessions yet, that's another three years down the road. you meet terrible people, sure, and you get your heart shattered (and then something even worse), but: you also meet people that are destined to be on road trips with you, howling at the moon. you meet nick and amity house and all of them. you discover you're actually not a terrible cook once you venture away from making plain pasta, you fall in love with baking and with painting and with crafts you've never even heard of. you meet alison's daughter, who is perfect and just like her mom, you'll love her. in four years you meet your dog, he is going to save your life. you meet your nephew, and you're now close with your family. you see concerts you never thought you could afford, read books and watch movies that you didn't think you'd be alive for. you've now gone abroad, conquered your fear of planes multiple times, have been to cities you used to only recognize by name. you come out first as bisexual and then as a nonbinary lesbian (which fits more accurately), and your mom is so okay with it that she consistently tries to set you up with people from her office. remember thinking you could never escape, never really find home? you discover you can make it. you are now in a suburb of boston, still writing (of course).
oh and you have a book out, you're a proper "author" now, your childhood dream come true. you're working on your second one already, actually, and a close friend is coming over tonight for a "wine wednesday writing session" (yes you still do those, they're still lovely), but you won't meet that friend for another eight years and six months. you have met the person you are currently roommates with, and your house together is fucking amazing. plants cover every fucking inch. the two of you have only one house rule: do whatever you want, forever.
you are so fucking lucky these days it is glittering. holy shit. bookstores and beach trips and so many people that you love and that love you back that you are endlessly, furiously happy about it. you are rabidly, obnoxiously happy, the kind of happy you used to think was faked; the kind of happy that pours out of you. you have dinner parties and friends over every weekend and music out of your speakers. you once wrote a short little paragraph about hoping you'd still find the beauty in things, and i have great news: you are still in love, if not moreso, with everything. little flowers and children in snowsuits and bunnies running and sunrises and the curl of oatmilk in your coffee (oh. oat milk is gonna be a thing).
this is the year that you start taking therapy seriously, thank you for that. and yes, we're still in therapy (like i said, a lot of bad things have been happening), but we are so much better. something you find impossible: we finally stopped self-harming. we get tattoos over the worst scars in five years pretty much on the dot. we have such a fucking good relationship to our body; we finally have an excellent relationship to food and to eating. we still dance, we still make art, we are still singing. we laugh so much more now, though. we are so much more confident, a version of ourselves we never thought possible: funny, and fun-loving, and healthy. healing.
you have a long road to walk. i think you'd have asked me: is it worth it? all the scars, the indignity of trauma.
and i'm telling you: even one moment of it is worth it, my love. even one drop of the future that's waiting for you. and while i wish none of the bad shit happened: holy shit, i cannot wait for all of the good that you live through. every single sunbeam was worth it. every walk with your dog. every quiet morning. every time you watched the soft purr of the grey and lifting fog.
it is worth it, and i'm so glad you're here now. it was worth it all. i know you feel aging is one long and terrible fall. i am telling you i am waiting for you there, at the end of the tunnel. i am waiting in the light and the growing spring.
you should stay for another decade. the birds are coming back. i can't wait for you to hear them sing.
I don't think dust needs to exist personally
I really love this website and the people on it a lot
ladies if youre a kpoppie, please occasionally take the time to remind yourself that you are a fan of just some guy
ladies if youre into mcyt, please occasionally take the time to remind yourself that you are a fan of just some guy
ladies?
minecraft youtubers.
No one ever expects the spanish ministry of science and technology
sure maybe it's my fault i didn't sleep last night because i got up to the sorceress assassination sequence in ff8 but in my defense, y'all. i think you'd be hard pressed to find a final fantasy with a better first act than disk 1 of ff8
all these characters are kids. and they want to not be. but they're kids. rinoa is an idealist who never went through mercenary academy, but she came up in a world where her boyfriend did, and she needs to believe she's on the same level. irvine is too young to pull the trigger, metaphorically and literally, yet he was sent on this hell mission because shit, how long really do SeeD members have in active training before they can't remember their orders? (which. sidenote. if i was put in charge of a remake, i would really play into this. but i have all my "in charge of a remake" ideas in a locked brainbox.)
and like sure there's all the character trauma and dept there. but also? that bit where squall jumps into the chaos and immediately takes out some galbadian army-cops, and steals a car? that's fuckin' sick as hell. and the first real sight of edea in all her art deco 1920s flapper gown drama as she prepares for her time in the stage? girl. and the animations, the fucking psx era, blocky-ass barely any detail character animations are really good. rinoa losing control of her arm at first before being yanked upwards is insane for a twenty seven year old playstation one game
but then. that's the whole fuckin' game. they went all out on this one. and i love it to hell and back
Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.
I have been waiting for this post all my life.
They are indeed purple, But one thing you’ve missed: The concept of “purple” Didn’t always exist.
Some cultures lack names For a color, you see. Hence good old Homer And his “wine-dark sea.”
A usage so quaint, A phrasing so old, For verses of romance Is sheer fucking gold.
So roses are red. Violets once were called blue. I’m hugely pedantic But what else is new?
My friend you’re not wrong About Homer’s wine-ey sea! Colours are a matter Of cultural contingency;
Words are in flux And meanings they drift But the word purple You’ve given short shrift.
The concept of purple, My friends, is old And refers to a pigment once precious as gold.
By crushing up molluscs From the wine-dark sea You make a dye: Imperial decree
Meant that in Rome, to wear purpura was a privilege reserved
For only the emperor!
The word ‘purple’, for clothes so fancy, Entered English By the ninth century
.
Why then are voilets Not purple in song? The dye from this mollusc, known for so long
Is almost magenta; More red than blue. The concept of purple is old, and yet new.
The dye is red, So this might be true: Roses are purple And violets are blue
.
While this song makes me merry, Tyrian purple dyes many a hue From magenta to berry And a true purple too.
But fun as it is to watch this poetic race The answer is staring you right in the face: Roses are red and violets are blue Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.
World Heritage Post
when I was a little kid at some point I got upset with my parents because I didn't have a crucifix in my bedroom and they did- I was like why do YOU get to be safe from vampires??? you're okay with me getting my blood sucked???? so we took a little trip to the catholic store but the one closest to us was run by a group of nuns that had been moved here from romania. I got a little baby pink cross and this sweet old nun was like 'aww, is this a baptism gift?' and I was like no. I need to be protected from vampires. and she immediately got SO serious and was like 'this is the best one we've got, you'll definitely be safe' and since she was literally from vampire land I was convinced she was like, van helsing. like the whole time my parents had been laughing about how cute my fear was but she literally Knew dracula and was taking my concerns seriously I held this over my parents for so long lmfao
listen she may have just been humoring you but even my limited experience with Romanian nuns has taught me that there is one thing they are absolutely dead serious about and it is their multi-generational fear of vampires
"comparing apples and oranges" has always been funny to me as an expression because people's go to exampe of two things so radically different that they defy any useful comparison are apples. and oranges. like you would struggle to find a more comparable pair of objects than that. theyre literally sold right next to each other in most stores.
wikipedia has a whole ass section dedicated to international variants of the idiom so let me quickly run through them
see this is even worse than oranges. pears and apples are like the most comparable things ever. france takes another L
ok so this is what i mean. these are measures of temperature and texture and are in fact not very comparable. молодцы ребята продолжаем в том же духе.
colombia wins most vivid image invoked hands down. would not want that to happen to me.
and i think we can all agree romania wins this hands down. everyone give a big round of applause to romania
this was written 100 years ago but it reads like a post i would make on my tumblr blog in 2026
so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.
this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.
somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.
i used betterhelp.
i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.
the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.
they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.
the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.
i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."
i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.
the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.
i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.
in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.
the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.
betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.
i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.
there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.
in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.
i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.
Bedtime should work like in computer games where I lie down and click "yes" on a menu and then there's an eight hour timeskip and I can get up again all refreshed.
Colonizers think “land back” is gonna look like mass-slaughter and expulsion bc thats what they did to us, sorta like how a cheater is always the most paranoid/insecure about their partner being potentially unfaithful. It’s pure projection.
To tell you the truth, I worry too much about what others think of me.
-Squall Leonhart, FF8
hey I don't think I've posted them together before
and this technically doesn't belong but it's important